


Resuscitation

by Anathema Device (notowned)



Series: Coming up for air [6]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, Season Three inspired, cancer sufferer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-09
Updated: 2016-12-09
Packaged: 2018-09-07 10:51:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 30,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8797987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notowned/pseuds/Anathema%20Device
Summary: Four years after Rochefort was faced down, life has settled down, and Aramis is questioning his future. He never expected it to include nursing a sick employer through a deadly illness, or an attack on the de Bourbons from within their own family. It's a year full of shocks, surprises, danger, and love—for all of them.





	

D’Artagnan had just set off down the path towards the garden when he heard Madame’s voice.

“Where are you going, Charles?”

“Just going for a run...walk,” he amended as he looked at Anton’s mother, her pleading eyes, and the bright smile of the lively little boy beside her. “Would you like to come with me, Anton?”

“Please, Maman, may I?”

“Of course you can,” Madame said, before looking up and mouthing ‘thank you’ at d’Artagnan. Anton’s beloved nanny, Agathe, was ill and it was the weekend. D’Artagnan loved the kid, thinking of him as another nephew, but he was a ball of energy and needed a lot of attention. If Constance’s son Pierre had been around, it would have been easier, but the older boy was with his father this weekend.

“Madame, you’re welcome to join us.”

“Um...you know? I think I will. Thank you, Charles.”

D’Artagnan used his runs around the estate partly as a way of checking on the perimeter, even though there were always regular security guards posted. His protectiveness towards the de Bourbon’s little family had grown as large as Athos’s, which was saying something, but then, he was no different from Aramis or Porthos or Anne in that respect. It was almost like being in the military again, only at war. The threats never ended. Fortunately, aside from the hijacking and Rochefort’s madness, none of the enemy had again come close enough to hurt them. That wasn’t down to luck, but to the efforts of staff members, from Treville down to the youngest member of the kitchen staff. Every one of them had now been trained in security techniques, and in intruder prevention.

Today was a lovely early summer’s morning, and the walk was a pleasant one. Madame, though, didn’t seem to be enjoying the weather or Anton’s cheerful commentary on everything they passed. “Is something the matter?” d’Artagnan asked in a low voice when Anton had run ahead to peer at something on the ground.

“The usual,” Madame said. “Another story saying our marriage is in trouble. I never let Louis see these things, but I don’t know if he knows anyway.”

“I’m sorry.”

Madame was always subject to flat out nastiness in online media—Porthos had educated him on that in his first few days at the residence—but over the last couple of months, it had ramped up, always from outside France to avoid the privacy laws, always online, impossible to defend against. Madame—and Louis—had long ago taken the attitude that to attempt to remove this garbage only drew attention to it, so they maintained a dignified silence. But seeing pictures of one’s husband kissing his wife’s bodyguard in an apparently intimate manner—no matter that one picture had actually captured a kiss of comfort at Armand du Plessis’s funeral, and another, a hug at a charity ball where Madame was inches away and grinning at the two of them—along with all the conjecture based on nothing but rumours, was unpleasant to say the least.

“Why do they care, and what difference does it make to the world?”

“I don’t know, and none. But it’s just so wearing, Charles.”

None of this was particularly new, so it didn’t completely explain her low mood. Maybe she was missing Constance.

The perimeter walk was a long one, and as d’Artagnan expected, they weren’t half way around before Anton demanded to be picked up. So d’Artagnan put him on his shoulders and carried him that way, much to Anton’s noisy delight, and Madame’s quieter pleasure. When they returned to the residence, she touched his shoulder. “Thank you. I think he thinks you’re his big brother.”

D’Artagnan grinned. “I’d be honoured.”

“We’re thinking of having another, actually. Louis certainly wants one. I just...hesitate.” D’Artagnan didn’t know what to say. “It’s stupid, but the way he was born, made me a little frightened of something else happening.”

“The chances of you being hijacked while in labour again are small, Madame.”

“Oh I know. It was a little traumatising, that’s all. What do you think?”

D’Artagnan lifted his eyebrows. “About the trauma?”

She gave him a look to say his disingenuousness was not appreciated. “About a second _child_ , Charles.”

“Uh, that’s entirely up to you, Madame. But I can say on behalf of our entire team that your first effort has been a splendid success, and none of us would discourage you from making a second attempt.”

She smiled right up to her eyes. “Is that your long-winded way of saying, go for it?”

He grinned. “Yeah, it is.”

“Then, thank you. Now, I better take him inside. Anne was talking about taking him with her to Le Bourget when she goes this afternoon.”

“He’ll love that.”

She made a face. “Right up to when Anne has to get him to leave the helicopter.”

“Oh, yes.” D’Artagnan was familiar with the meltdowns as much as Anton’s cheerful babble. “He’ll grow out of them. I did. It only takes about eighteen years.”

“Thank you,” she said wryly, shaking her head at him. “See you later, Charles.”

He headed to the gym after that. While carrying a five-year-old certainly counted as exercise, it wasn’t quite the workout that he’d planned. Aramis was already there, using the shoulder press. “Fancy a spar?”

Aramis grunted with effort. “Give me five, and I’m all yours.”

D’Artagnan nodded and did some stretches to warm up. His phone pinged—a message from Athos. _My office, eleven, d’Artagnan and Porthos_

What was this about? Athos hadn’t said anything at breakfast. Maybe something Louis had decided to go to, though normally it would be Aramis and Porthos on his detail. When Aramis met him on the exercise mat, d’Artagnan asked if he knew what Athos wanted.

“Not a clue,” Aramis said. “You’ll find out soon enough, though. Now pay attention or I’ll kick your scrawny butt.”

“You wish.”

D’Artagnan beat him as he expected to, but it was a close thing. He might be twelve years younger than Aramis, but Aramis had learned his techniques from the dirtiest fighter d’Artagnan knew, which was Porthos, and the man’s own speed was close to supernatural. That their team medic was both the kindest and the most violently agile member of the team was a contradiction d’Artagnan had never managed to square to his satisfaction.

He showered and walked up stairs to Athos’s office. Even though Athos was now head of security and Porthos the team leader, Athos had refused to move to headquarters to Treville’s office. Treville had been made a director on the corporation’s board, but he and Athos still cooperated closely on matters concerning the de Bourbons, even though they had to do it mainly by phone, and shared Treville’s secretary. So d’Artagnan was surprised to go in to his husband’s office and find not only Athos, but also Treville, and a black woman he’d never met. Porthos was right behind him, so Athos beckoned them both in to sit down.

“Thanks for coming,” Treville said. “Porthos, d’Artagnan, I’d like you to meet Sylvie Boden. Sylvie, Porthos du Vallon and Charles d’Artagnan.”

“Nice to meet you,” Sylvie said. D’Artagnan gave her a polite smile, while wondering who she was and what was going on. She was about his age, attractive though not conventionally pretty, and with a determined glint in her eye that reminded him of Constance. He looked at Athos for an explanation.

It was Treville who gave it. “Gentlemen, I’ve asked Louis’s permission to second you both for a mission of importance to the corporation, led by Sylvie. She’s a private investigator, formerly with the DCPJ’s organized crime sub-directorate. Over the last six months there has been an unusually large loss of key personnel from our Metz and Cambridge centres, as well as from the one in San Jose, California. This is cause enough for concern, but we learned that two of our developers have also died, apparently of suicide and accident, but possibly not from these causes. Louis and Van Laar are worried enough that they want this activity checked out, and to discover if the deaths are suspicious or not.”

“Sylvie is a industrial espionage expert,” Athos added. “Your role will be to support her, carry out questioning and investigations at her request, and do whatever else she needs. We’re hoping the three of you can handle this, though we will provide more people if it’s required. Obviously we need this to be done with maximum discretion.”

“Why me?” d’Artagnan asked. “I have no special skills at investigating anything.”

“You have the best English of all of us, except for me. Porthos is fluent too. It’s a tossup between you and Aramis,” Athos said to Porthos. “But you’re the best at seeing patterns, so I thought you’d be more use. Charles, you have the right skills with people for this, which is more important than experience. Sylvie agrees. Porthos, what do you think?”

Porthos nodded. “I’m good. D’Artagnan, I think you’ll be fine at this.”

“Sure, whatever. It’ll be good experience.”

Athos smiled. “That’s what I thought. Sylvie, you three should talk, and if you decide after that you would prefer someone else, or two someone elses, please let me know. Jean?”

Treville nodded. “Yes, that’s fine. We need you to leave as soon as possible, but at the same time, you need to be prepared. Porthos, d’Artagnan, you’re now off the roster. Athos has made other arrangements. We’ll attach Gérard Legros to Monsieur’s detail, and Angelique Gilbert to Madame’s. Questions?”

“How long do you think this will take?” Porthos asked.

Treville grimaced. “As long as it takes, unfortunately. I don’t know, and that’s a fact.”

“Apart from the volume of resignations,” d’Artagnan asked, “why is Monsieur worried?”

“Because there’s more going on. The corporation is undergoing what looks to be a coordinated attack on its reputation by a couple of influential tech sites, and we think this may be leading or related to the staff departures.”

“How long has this been going on for?”

“A couple of months. Why?”

“Just Madame told me this morning that she’s concerned by the ramping up of nasty rumours about her and Monsieur again, and I wondered how much overlap there has been. And what else has been going on in that time.”

Athos pursed his lips. “I’ll look into that. Sylvie, that’s not really part of your remit, but is it possible it could be related?”

She frowned in thought. “It could be. Though the personal angle seems a strange way to attack a company. I mean, who cares about the private life of the main shareholder? They don’t run the company.”

“No one cares,” Treville said. “But it still could be related. We’ll look into it a bit more at this end, and let you know what we find.”

“Good,” she said. “Anything else? Athos, where can we talk?”

“Staff dining room? Or the garden? Wherever you like. Do you need privacy?”

“Just somewhere quiet. The garden is fine. Gentlemen, if you’d like to show me the way?”

*******************************

“So where exactly do you start?” Aramis asked, as Porthos finished telling him what Sylvie had laid out.

“She says Cambridge. They’ve lost the greatest number of key employees. I’m not sure why Athos picked me. I know less than you about tech.”

“You don’t need to know tech. You need to know people. And you need to spot a deliberate plan when you see one, and, beloved, you’re the best of us at that.”

“Thanks.” Porthos smiled at him, and even after so many years as lovers, as husbands, it still made Aramis’s heart flip to see it. “Not wild about being away from you and all.”

“It won’t be so long. D’Artagnan’s good company.”

“I guess. Not the same, innit.”

Aramis patted his shoulder. “No. But Cambridge isn’t so far away either. Athos and d’Artagnan could be right. There’s something brewing. I hope you find what you’re looking for. Having something tangible to fight against would be good.”

“Might not, though. It might just be normal fluctuations. The corporation is nearly twenty years old. Maybe it’s not keeping up. Even Apple has run into trouble because of that before, and maybe even now.”

“But the deaths?”

Porthos went to the kitchen to start putting lunch together. He liked to cook—or at least assemble—when he was worried. “The deaths could be exactly what the police think they are. I mean, statistically, two deaths out of a working population of hundreds over the space of two months, isn’t exactly pushing the limits of believability.”

“No. It could be nothing. But I’d bet at least twenty euros it’s something.”

“A whole twenty, eh?”

Aramis went into the kitchen and put his arm around Porthos’ waist. “We have to save for our old age.”

Porthos snorted. “In my old age, I reckon I’ll still be tottering in a walking frame after Monsieur and Madame, guarding them.”

“You see us doing this for that long?”

“Why not?”

Aramis frowned. “I can’t give you a reason. It just seems a bit lacking in ambition.” And yet he had no reason to be unhappy, to want to move on.

“Most people want to climb up the career tree because they have families to support. I don’t, except for you. I got everything I ever wanted right here with me.” He put his own arm around Aramis’s waist and pulled him closer. “Why would I want more money, a different job? Unless you’re bored, love.”

“No, not bored. I suppose I saw a family in my future once, but not for a very long time now. I do have talents I’m not using, like my nursing.”

“Guess we’ll have to arrange for d’Artagnan or Athos to get themselves shot again, so you can practice.”

Aramis raised an eyebrow. “I’d rather not, if you don’t mind. I know Anne feels the same sometimes, though she does look after Anton and Madame from time to time. Pierre too. We both had so much training.”

“Tell you what. I promise to come back from America with some horrible bird flu and infect the lot of us, and that’ll keep you happy.”

“Oh, would you, darling? You are too kind to me, really.” Aramis fluttered his eyelashes and Porthos laughed all the way from his belly, as he did when he was really amused. “I hope I’m never _that_ desperate to renew my skills.”

“You only have to ask. Be careful what you wish for, Aramis.”

“I’m never careful, you know that.” Aramis leaned against his love. “When do you leave?”

“Day after tomorrow. Sylvie just has a couple of things to finish up and then we’re catching Eurostar first thing.”

Aramis wound his fingers in Porthos’s luscious, thick curls and gently pulled his head down so he could kiss him. “Then we better make sure we don’t waste any time before you go.”

*******************************

“Listen, there’s one thing I should say before I leave,” Porthos said later, holding Aramis in his arms after they’d made love. The dusk was still holding, the warm evening air delicious on their naked bodies.

“What’s that?” Aramis trailed his fingers down one of Porthos’s magnificent arms.

“You know how I feel about cheating.”

Aramis went rigid. “I could hardly fail to. But I don’t see—”

Porthos put his finger on Aramis’s lips. “You ain’t done nothing. But I want to say...I don’t consider you sleeping with any of our team to be cheating, so long as you come back to me. Cos I know you hate to sleep alone, and I don’t know how long I’ll be away.”

Aramis exhaled half in shock, half in relief. “Love, I’m really not that hard up, and besides, Athos doesn’t like to share his toys.”

“Funny you should say that, cos he said the same thing to d’Artagnan. And to me. This was a couple of years ago, up at the chalet. He said, he’d be sad if d’Artagnan or Anne slept with anyone else but him, but not if it was any of us. Cos we’re family.”

“So he likes incest, does he?” That earned him a slap on his arse. “Bully.”

“Idiot.”

“I’m not saying you should test this without talking to him. But I think you’ll find he’s a lot less uptight about it than you imagine. So long as you don’t fucking sleep with Madame again.”

“Trust me, Porthos. If I sleep with her again, you can safely assume I have lost my bloody mind. Are you serious?”

“As a heart attack. I’m not planning to sleep with d’Artagnan, but if he’s desperate, I’ll ask you first.”

Aramis shook his head. “Absolutely no need. You have my permission. Just don’t go falling in love with the brat because he’s younger and cuter than all of us put together.”

“Babe, if I wanted cute, I’d have never married you.”

“Bloody _cheek_.”

Porthos pulled him closer and kissed his neck. “He’s a great kid. But he’s not you. He never will be. So don’t worry. And don’t suffer while I’m gone.”

“Even if I don’t have sex with them, I’m sure Anne and Athos will look after me, as I will look after them. But I’ll speak to d’Artagnan to make sure he understands I expect him to do the same for you. This Sylvie, do you trust her?”

Porthos tensed up a bit. “Not sure. She’s bright enough, but I don’t know how she’d handle herself. She’s very upfront, direct. But d’Artagnan is going along to be the charmer. I think it’ll work.”

“Just don’t _you_ get shot by some enraged tech billionaire trying to take over the corporation.”

“How many of them can there be? Athos killed the last one, didn’t he?”

“Damn well hope so.” Aramis burrowed into Porthos’s generous embrace. “Want to go again?”

“I think I just want to hold you and watch the sun go down. We won’t have many more evenings like this. Not this year.”

Though it was nothing but a simple observation, Aramis couldn’t help the chill that ran through him at Porthos’s words, and he sent up a silent prayer to keep his beloved safe from harm until he returned to Aramis’s arms once more.

*******************************

After Luc Brujon departed with Porthos and d’Artagnan for Gare du Nord, Athos and Anne took Aramis up to the residence for breakfast.

“Yes, I know,” Athos said, looking at Aramis’s glum expression as he lifted his coffee to his mouth.

“And yet _you_ still have a bedmate.”

Anne smiled at Aramis’s remark. “So can you, any time.”

Aramis felt he should protest he wasn’t that emotionally feeble, but in truth, he was. “Thank you. Maybe we should just build the world’s biggest bed and all of us can sleep together from now on.”

“I’m not sure I’m up to that many male snores in one room,” Anne said, quirking an eyebrow at him.

“She thinks she doesn’t snore,” Athos said, apparently to no one, then yelped as she poked him. “It’s true.”

“Don’t be a sod.” But she said it fondly.

Athos was the first to rise. “Work to do.” He bent and kissed Anne’s cheek. “I’ll see you all when you get back from Monsieur’s lunch appointment.”

Since the GardesRoix had been expunged from any premises that the corporation used, Treville’s workload, and then Athos’s, had quadrupled, though it had made security coordination much simpler. Athos said he missed bodyguarding, but there was no doubt he was good at his new role. He still pulled the odd shift here and there, just to keep his hand in, and was as fit at forty-two as he had been at thirty-six. At forty-five, Aramis knew just how hard it was to keep oneself in shape in middle age.

With that in mind, Aramis went for a run with Anne, then a swim, before they grabbed an early meal before they had to go with Monsieur at twelve thirty.

“Think this Sylvie will find anything?” he asked as they ate.

“I hope so. Monsieur takes this all personally, losing staff at this rate. It’s probably nothing to do with him, but you know what he’s like.”

“Surely it’s the managers, if anyone. He has nothing to do with running the corporation.”

“Yes, we know, Aramis. Madame tells him that all the time. He just wants to be loved. Makes me wonder what his father was like, to be honest.”

“Mine was lovely, yet I need to be loved too.”

“You do, don’t you?” She regarded him with a mixture of pity and fondness. “You and Athos, not so different.”

“Except he would torture himself rather than admit it, while I go out and look for affection.”

“He’s a lot better than he was. And you’ve calmed down, thank God.”

He waggled his eyebrows at her. “Not that calm, Milady.”

“Oh, behave.”

“Who’s this bloke Monsieur is meeting?”

“Philippe Féron. A bit of an eccentric, collector of fine art and fine men, if the rumours are true. He doesn’t get out much because he’s got mobility issues. Why he wants to meet Monsieur, Monsieur isn’t saying, and I have no idea.”

“Unlike Monsieur to be so reticent.”

“He hasn’t even told _her_.” Anne looked quite peeved about it. “He’s such a child sometimes.”

Aramis nodded, though he carefully refrained from expressing an opinion. While he and Monsieur had rebuilt their working relationship, and Monsieur was now quite friendly towards him, Aramis was aware that the trust was a fragile thing, and he would do absolutely nothing to ever damage it again. “All will be revealed, I assume.”

The lunch was at one of Monsieur’s favourite restaurants in Paris. Aramis and Gérard sat at a table near to Monsieur’s and Féron, but could not hear what they talked about—nor would Aramis listen if he could. Anne and Angelique kept watch outside. From a security point of view, the place was a nightmare, but it was so beloved of the rich and famous that Monsieur’s guards had to fight to find a table or a place to stand among all the _other_ bodyguards on duty. It was thus one of the safest places Monsieur could eat outside his own home.

Féron was unprepossessing. Very tall, not handsome, and clearly in late middle age, he walked slowly with a cane and a pronounced stoop. His voice was a little on the precious side, as if he disdained Parisian French and strove to enunciate each word better than anyone else in the city. Monsieur appeared captivated, and not long after Féron arrived, rose to hug the man, tears in his eyes, a reaction only explained at the end of the meal when they stood, and walked over to Aramis’s table.

“Guys, I’d like you to meet Philippe Féron. My brother.”

*******************************

“His _brother_?” Athos stared at his phone’s screen as if Treville’s words would magically start to make sense. “How does that work?” Monsieur’s only known brother, Gaston, was a complete waste of space and none of the siblings, even Louis, had anything to do with him after too long indulging his poor behaviour and various addictions.

“Half-brother. Back when his dad was at University. He had an affair with a teaching assistant, knocked her up, and abandoned her.”

“Charming. So why is Féron entering Monsieur’s life now?”

“He _says_ it’s because he’s tired of resenting Louis and wants to make peace with his past and his family.”

“You sound...unpersuaded.”

“You noticed, did you?” Treville’s dry and sarcastic tone was only slightly more dry and sarcastic than his normal one. “I don’t have anything to go on. Just my instincts.”

“Which I trust. What should we do?”

“Nothing. Do whatever you’re told. If Louis makes a move to install him on the board or, god forbid, as CEO, I’ll try to stop him. Fortunately he’s a little more wary after Rochefort, and Anne will remind him if he forgets. I’m arranging a background check.”

“I bet Monsieur doesn’t know about _that_.”

“He doesn’t need to. In the meantime, take your cue from Louis. If he wants him treated as family, do so—only, think of him as Victor rather than Christine Savoy.”

“Right you are.” There wasn’t anything else Athos wanted to ask beyond, “Have you heard from Sylvie?” which was ludicrous considering the three of them would have been in England for all of five hours at that point. “Anything else?”

“Not a thing. Constance wants to invite you, Anne, and Aramis for dinner, since you’re all missing someone.”

Athos tried to believe Treville wasn’t rolling his eyes as he said it, but that was highly unlikely. “Dinner would be nice,” he said. “But we’ll be fine.”

“Of course you will. Talk later.”

Athos smiled to himself. It was cute the way Constance’s generous affection contrasted so sharply with Treville’s stoicism, while at the same time how much they cared about their friends was as obvious as if they wore neon signs. He supposed people thought similarly of d’Artagnan and himself. He and Anne were much the same about wearing their hearts on their sleeves, except when it came to the three of them.

Enough. He had work to do. He also needed the distraction to stop himself thinking about d’Artagnan.

*******************************

“So that’s six so far,” Sylvie said, looking at d’Artagnan’s notes. “All the same.”

“Different companies, though,” Porthos said. “And different recruiters.”

“All offering exactly the same inducements and FUD,” she said.

“FUD?”

“Fear, uncertainty and doubt,” she explained to d’Artagnan. “Not a surprising tactic, but it’s uncanny how all the recruiters have landed on exactly the same rumours to make employees wonder about Louis de Bourbon and the corporation.”

“So you think it’s definitely co-ordinated?” d’Artagnan asked.

“Not yet. But I think our work in Cambridge is done.”

“Shame we can’t talk to any of the poached employees directly.”

Sylvie shook her head. “Not worth it, and the poaching company will clam up tight, or blame the recruiters. I can still research the destinations though. So, back to Paris in the morning, and we’ll head to Metz the day after tomorrow, okay?”

“Fine by me,” Porthos said casually, as if he was completely indifferent to spending a whole night with Aramis after a week away. D’Artagnan wasn’t fooled.

Sylvie had a wife called Clementine. She said that Clem was used to her travelling, but it was always a wrench. They didn’t live in Paris so Sylvie wouldn't see her before they left the following day. Which gave d’Artagnan an idea, and a reason to call Athos beyond the obvious.

“Can you arrange it?” d’Artagnan asked.

“I can certainly try, since she’s bringing you back faster than we hoped. I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon then.”

“Yeah. Love you.”

D’Artagnan heard the smile in Athos’s voice as he said, “Of course you do.”

D’Artagnan grinned as he hung up. Anne must be working her magic on Athos if he could still tease after a week apart. It would be good to see them again.

Who was he kidding? It would be _fantastic_ to see them again.

Luc collected them from Gare du Nord, and while Porthos and d’Artagnan smiled broadly in anticipation of seeing their partners again, Sylvie looked much as she always did—quiet, thoughtful, but a little wistful. D’Artagnan hadn’t told anyone what he’d arranged because he wanted it to be a surprise, and he wasn’t a hundred percent sure the arrangements would work. He had his confirmation when they drove into the garage at the residence, and spotted Athos standing with a white woman he didn’t know.

Sylvie hadn’t noticed. It was only when Athos stepped up to open her door that she blinked. “Clem! What are you doing here?”

“I’ve been kidnapped,” she said, grinning. “Was told to get my shiny arse down here so I could spend the night with you.”

“There was no mention of arses, shiny or otherwise,” Athos murmured, before d’Artagnan grabbed him to kiss him hard.

“Thank you,” d’Artagnan said against his ear.

“My pleasure. Madame Boden-Masson is delightful.”

“You arranged this?” Sylvie said to Athos, while holding her wife tightly against her.

“It was Charles’s idea,” Athos said.

“You...are wonderful,” Sylvie said, turning to d’Artagnan. “Thank you. Sometimes it’s weeks before we see each other.”

“I thought as much,” he said. “So, enjoy. I don’t even know if my husband is free to spend time with me or not.”

Athos smiled. “He will be in an hour or so, but your wife is ready anytime you are.”

“Great. I missed you both.”

“As we did you. Porthos, why are you still here? Aramis is in your cabin, pining.”

“Just being polite,” Porthos said, shaking Athos’s hand with both of his in gratitude. “Nice to meet you, Clementine.”

Sylvie flushed. “Sorry, I should have—”

“Don’t worry about it,” Porthos said. “Athos? I’m off duty until tomorrow.”

“Of course. Run along.”

Sylvie gave Athos a longing look. “I’ve already sent you a report, so you don’t need—”

“No, I don’t,” Athos told her. “Charles, be kind enough to escort these ladies to your old cabin. Everything’s set up for you there, even supper. Anne will be flying you to Metz in the Lear so you don’t need to get to the airport by a particular time tomorrow. Just when you’re ready, and Aramis will drive Clementine back to Rouen. I hope that’s all right.”

“I’m speechless,” Sylvie said. “Thank you.” She kissed Athos’s cheek.

“You’re welcome. Charles, I’ll see you soon.” Athos walked off towards the stairs.

D’Artagnan picked up his bag, and Sylvie’s. “This way, _mesdames_.”

*******************************

“You should have seen Sylvie’s face,” d’Artagnan said when Athos came to their cabin. “Like a kid in front of a Christmas tree.”

“It was a lovely idea, Charles.”

“You laid it out so nicely though. Thank you.” D’Artagnan let Athos undress him. Clearly they were eating in that evening, which suited him fine. “When’s Anne free?”

“Any time now. They’re entertaining Monsieur’s latest new best thing.” D’Artagnan raised an eyebrow. “Turns out he has a half-brother he never knew about who’s turned up after fifty years to bond with his little bro.”

“Yeah? That sounds...convenient. Looking for money, is he?”

“Apparently not, since he’s pretty wealthy in his own right. Philippe Féron. Ever heard of him?”

“No. Should I have?”

Athos hung up d’Artagnan’s jacket and threw the shirt towards the laundry. D’Artagnan undid Athos’s shirt. “Just wondered if the name came up at all while you were asking people about the staff losses.”

“Nope. No single name at all. Sylvie’s still digging.” D’Artagnan tossed Athos’s shirt after his own, then put his bare arms around Athos. “You think there’s a link?”

“No. Grasping at straws, that’s all. The guy is creepy.”

“Like Rochefort?” d’Artagnan’s eyes were drawn to the ugly scar on Athos’s chest, a souvenir of that final encounter with a truly nasty bastard.

“Not that creepy. Just...obsequious. Which is odd because he doesn’t want anything, apparently, and if he did, Monsieur would give it to him.” Athos shrugged. “I might be a little gun-shy.”

D’Artagnan put his hand over the scar. “You have every reason. How does Madame react to him?”

“With immense caution, thank God. Treville’s keeping an eye on him too. Now, I cleared my desk just so I could spend the entire evening with you and Anne without thinking about the job, so....”

“Stop talking, is that what you want?”

“Silently naked and worshipful, is what I was thinking. On my part.”

D’Artagnan grinned, before sinking to his knees and undoing Athos’s belt. “I dunno. I think I could stand to do a little worshipping of my own. It’s been a long, long week.

*******************************

Aramis was aware that Porthos thought of him as needy, and in fact he was, at least more than Porthos. But he wasn’t so pitiful that a week without his love turned him into a wreck. No, it had taken a full ten days with Porthos in Metz for Aramis to admit he was so lonely without him, he was literally on the verge of tears.

The good thing about admitting he was needy was that he could also admit what comfort he needed, and take it where it was offered. So he texted Athos that afternoon and asked if anyone minded if he spent the night with one or both of them.

_Wait in your cabin. Someone will be by around eight_

_‘Someone’?_

_Wait and see_

Aramis scratched his beard. This was not at all like Athos. But these days Athos was not at all like the Athos they knew, at least the Athos he and Porthos had known before d’Artagnan, before Anne and d’Artagnan, before Athos had declared his enduring love for the two of them for the world to take notice of. Athos, to Aramis’s enormous surprise, had mellowed. And it had only taken forty-two years.

The fact that someone knocked on his door precisely at eight o’clock told him nothing. Both Athos and Anne were punctual to the point of being tiresome about it. Aramis opened his door and sighed a little in pleasure to see Athos there in light slacks and an open-necked shirt. He carried a bottle of red wine.

“Disappointed?” Athos asked, misreading his sigh.

“Not at all. Come in, my friend.”

Athos kissed his cheek. “Anne’s working, or we’d have both come.”

“That’s fine. I just need not to be alone.”

Athos handed him the bottle—a rather nice Burgundy. “I’m sorry. I would have sent Anne but you know....”

“I do indeed. Come and sit. I presume this is for now?” Athos nodded so Aramis went to the kitchen for a couple of glasses. Athos had opened the wine and set it on the sideboard. “I’m pathetic,” Aramis said, sitting beside him on the sofa.

Athos put his hand behind his neck and began to massage. “No more than I am. At least I have Anne. But I miss Charles. I worry too.”

“I’m not exactly _worried_ , but we’ve never been apart this long. Not speaking, yes, but always in the same place. I am so very married.”

Athos chuckled. “More than me, and that’s saying something.”

“I wish he’d been here long enough to see Féron. I want to know what he thinks. Porthos is the other half of my brain.”

“Anne is mine. Charles too, but her more than him. He’s the other half of my emotions, I think. That sounds like I love him more than her, which isn’t so.”

“No, I understand. Charles is super bright, but his emotional intelligence is off the charts. I wonder what _he_ will think of Féron.”

Athos lifted an eyebrow. “Somehow, I don’t think you need to be that perceptive to think there’s something up with him.”

“Yes, but what? Did Treville come back with anything on him?”

“No. The man is irritatingly opaque, which is a red flag in itself.” Athos tucked Aramis’s hair behind his ear. “Do you really want to talk about work?”

“No. Uh, were you planning to spend the night?”

“Whatever you want. Porthos had a little chat with me.”

“Ah. Yes, he did with me too. I don’t think I want sex, Athos.”

“That’s fine too.” Athos put his arm around Aramis’s shoulders. “He warned me that you get touch deprived after two days. I’m surprised it took you this long to ask for help.”

“Two days? Nonsense.” Athos smirked at him. “Well, maybe a little. No, I was fine until the weekend and then it started to hurt, being alone.”

“Good job you never went through with the seminary plan.”

Aramis shuddered. “Indeed. I found my need to help people could be satisfied in other ways, and my relationship with God is probably the better for it.” He leaned into Athos’s warm body. “I think you’re not so different from me.”

“Aramis, I’m a bloody _atheist_.”

“No, I mean, you need people. Selected people. No wonder you were nearly out of your mind after the divorce.”

“I was a drunk. A mean drunk.”

“You were in pain, and self-medicating. I bless Charles’s arrival for many things, but saving your life is right at the top of the list.”

“You all did,” Athos said quietly. “It wasn’t just him, or Anne. All of you, together. And I am grateful every single day.”

Aramis turned to press a kiss into his friend’s hair. “As are we, Athos.”

And how could he have ever thought this job, this life of his, was limited in ambition when all of them supported each other, each with their wounds and their turmoil and past mistakes, keeping each alive and happy. That was a fulltime occupation in itself, and needed careful attention.

“Let’s have some wine,” he said. “And then go to bed.”

*******************************

Later Aramis reflected on how utterly without premonition he had been that morning, considering how his life changed so much on that day. But it was true. He’d had no inkling at all, and had woken with Athos still asleep beside him, with nothing but a feeling of being better rested, and grateful for Athos’s company which had let him sleep soundly for the first time in over a week.

Athos excused himself before breakfast, saying he wanted to catch Anne, and Aramis bid goodbye with a kiss and heartfelt thanks. “Anne is free tonight,” Athos said. “Come to us, if you wish.”

“I will. Thank you.”

He ate quickly and showered. Monsieur had a medical appointment that morning, and Madame was going with him, so it required a full detail and two cars, Anne and Angelique in the one carrying the de Bourbons, and Aramis and Gérard following. Anne and Angelique went inside the clinic, while the men, including Luc, waited outside, keeping a watchful eye on anyone entering or leaving. Athos texted him while he waited.

_Another death, this time in Cambridge. One of the interviewees_

_Fuck_

_Quite_

His gut went cold. Was it coincidence? One of the officers back in his army days had liked quoting Ian Fleming. _Once is happenstance. Twice is coincidence. Three times is enemy action._

Aramis wondered if Athos knew that quote. He would certainly recognise the truth in it.

Before he could text Athos again, Anne came over his radio. “Leaving now, over.”

They got into position, Luc behind the wheel, Aramis and Gérard the street as Anne led the couple out, Angelique following. As usual, it all went so fast, that there was little time to look at their protectees, but Aramis still had the impression of _something_ on Madame’s face. What had happened?

Anne radioed again. “Aramis, come to Madame’s office when you returned to the residence, over.”

“Acknowledged, over and out.”

“What’s going on?” Gérard asked.

“No idea. I’ll let you know, or Athos will.” Or perhaps not. Angelique and Gérard were fine, excellent bodyguards. But they weren’t core team members, and there were things they did not share with the others. Maybe never would.

Aramis rushed to Madame’s room from the garage, and found Athos already there, with Milady and Constance. Angelique was _not_ there. So this was not a bodyguard thing, but a family thing. The expressions on every face told him this wasn’t going to be good news.

“Thank you for coming, Aramis,” Madame said. “Please, take a seat.” Aramis did as she said, glancing at Athos. His grim expression did not bode well. “I’ve asked you here in your medical capacity, Anne too. What I’m to tell you is not to go past these walls. Athos will brief Porthos and d’Artagnan on their return. Louis has been diagnosed with stage three colorectal cancer.”

“I’m so sorry,” Aramis said, his mind already racing to drag up too many facts about this disease. Stage three? The survival rate was bloody low.

“So am I. It’s not the worst news, which would be stage four, but it’s bad enough. He’s to be operated on this Friday, and once he’s recovered, will begin chemotherapy. Because he’s anxious to avoid hospitals after his last unfortunate experience, we’ll do as much care for him at home as we can.” She held herself curiously tense. “Aramis, I’m asking—and only asking—if you are prepared to become one of his nurses for the foreseeable future.”

“Of course,” he said without hesitation. “He won’t want strangers.”

She relaxed. “Thank you, and yes, you’re right. We’ll hire what we need to, but if you and Anne could be the mainstay, he and I would be very grateful indeed. Athos and Jean have agreed to supplement guard duty until the operation, if the others aren’t back by then. And then they’ll be asked to return anyway. We need them.” Aramis nodded. “Other than Louis’s health, the main worry is the impact on the other shareholders, and the corporation. Thus discretion is everything. No one else must learn of this. And that includes Philippe Féron.”

“You don’t trust him.”

“I don’t _know_ him,” she said, her blue eyes fierce. “But no, I don’t trust him either. Please don’t say that to Louis.”

“Of course not.”

She bit her lip. “All of you will probably understand that at times, there will be things we need to keep from my husband for one reason or another, to stop him becoming agitated or stressed. If that makes you uncomfortable, please say so now. I'm not doing it to conceal...wrongdoing.” And again her eyes met Aramis’s.

“You have my full and unconditional support, Madame,” Athos said promptly.

“And mine,” Aramis added.

“Do you even need to ask?” Milady said, and Constance nodded.

“Thank you. You have no idea how much of a relief it is to be able to call on you. Blood relatives are all very well and good, but they’re not as good as real family.” She smiled properly this time, and as always, Aramis felt his heart lift. He loved her, and always would, because she was a good and wonderful person. He would do anything to save her pain.

“May I ask, Madame, how he’s coping with the news?” Aramis asked.

“Pretty well, considering. He’s still in shock somewhat and not completely understanding the magnitude of it all. He’s focused on the stoma right now, and I think that’s a good thing. You and Anne can help reassure him about that. I know neither of you were specialist cancer nurses, so when we don’t need you, I want you to do all you can to learn what you have to. Other than nursing, you will have no other duties. Anne, I mean that.”

“I’m sure you do, but I’m not letting some stranger pretend to be your friend.”

The two women exchanged fiercely affectionate looks. “No one can replace you in that way. Not you or Constance.”

“Madame, I speak for all of us when I say, we are all your friends,” Athos said. “And there is nothing you can’t ask of us. _Nothing_.”

“I know.” She wiped her eyes. “I’m just glad that Anton is too small to understand what’s going on. But we may have to lean on you to help him.”

“One thing I do know, without being a specialist cancer nurse, is that the whole family needs care, not just the patient,” Aramis said. “And what Athos said.”

“What would you like us to do right now?” Athos asked.

“Speak to Louis. You, Aramis, and Anne, as his friends, not just as his nurses. Aramis, Anne, I’d like you to move into the residence. Bring your husbands too,” she added with a smile. “I’ll leave it to you to arrange sensible coverage. Your pay will be—”

Anne held up her hand. “Unchanged.”

“Ditto,” Aramis said. “I would do this whether I worked for you or not, if humanly possible.”

Madame covered her mouth, her eyes shining with tears. “I don’t know what I’d do without you all.” Her voice broke on a sob.. Constance went to her side and hugged her. “Thank you.”

“It’s our pleasure,” Anne said.

When she was calmer, Madame led the three of them to Monsieur’s office. He was pale, his eyes red, but calmer than Aramis expected him to be. “Hey guys. It’s all fun, fun, fun at the de Bourbons, isn’t it?”

“Whatever it is, we’ll be with you,” Anne said.

He looked at Aramis. “You don’t mind doing this?”

“Not at all, Louis. It’s a privilege to be asked. I hope I can live up to your expectations.”

“I wish I had any. I mean, not of you,” he added hastily. “I don’t know what to expect from the treatment.”

Madame straightened up. “Let me leave you to talk. I’ll just be across the hall.” She kissed Monsieur’s head and stroked his face. “You couldn’t be in better hands, darling.”

Aramis and Anne spent a good hour talking to Monsieur, first about the operation, then the stoma. The chemo they could tell him little about until they found out exactly what he was having. Aramis made notes about what he needed to research.

Monsieur had one other concern. “Pain. It’s going to be bad, isn’t it?”

“After the operation, you’ll be given morphine and other drugs,” Anne reassured him. “And if the chemo works, you won’t have pain from the disease.”

“And if it doesn’t work?”

“Then you’ll be given whatever you need,” Aramis said. “I promise.”

“We both do, Louis.”

“I don’t know if I mind dying so much as being in pain. I’m terrified of that. Losing control. Frightening Anton.”

Aramis reached for his hand, and Monsieur gave it unhesitatingly. “We’ll help. Anticipating this won’t help. Concentrate on the operation for now. Take each battle one at a time. It’s the only way soldiers get through it. You can’t swallow it all down in one go. Just do the first thing, and trust us, trust your doctors. Trust your wife too. Did the doctor prescribe anything extra for the anxiety?”

“Just valium.”

“Then use it as recommended. One of us will be in the residence at all times. Would you prefer one of us particularly goes with you to your appointments, or will you be happy with either of us?”

“Either.”

“That’s fine. And if Anne’s on duty and you feel there’s something you can’t ask her to do, I’ll be there to ask. Or _vice versa_. It’s a team effort but you’re still in charge. This is your journey, your treatment. You don’t have to lie back and be told what to do, unless you want to.”

Monsieur nodded. “It’s so strange. I’ve been so sure of what I wanted, where I wanted to go, how things should be with the company. But with this, I feel like I’m lost.”

“You don’t have to,” Anne said. “But at the same time, there’s a lot of misinformation and crap out on the internet about cancer. You can do yourself a favour and not Google stuff yourself. Ask us, and we can filter it.”

“Okay. I think I’d like to stop now. And maybe talk to Anne if she’s free.”

Anne rose. “I’ll fetch her. Aramis, can I speak to you in the kitchen? So we can sort out who’s doing what?”

“Of course.”

He pressed a hand onto Monsieur’s shoulders. “Just a radio call or a text message away, never forget.”

“Thank you.”

He went down to the kitchen and made a coffee for himself, greeting Serge as usual. It struck him that Madame would need to bring more people than she realised into the secret. Serge, to prepare the right kind of meals for Monsieur. Their housekeepers. Agathe. Louis’s assistants at headquarters. Too many people necessary to a rich man’s life, and to his care. Keeping this a secret was going to be tough.

Anne joined him shortly afterwards. “Well, that’s one way to start the week,” she said after grabbing a coffee and joining him.

“How do you want to do this? One day on, one day off? Or split between days and nights?”

“Day on, day off, seems okay. We’ll need to be flexible. Poor Louis. Madame is frantic.”

“I can imagine,” Aramis said, sending a silent prayer that the people he held dearest would be spared this. “Did Athos have a chance to tell you the other bad news?” He pulled out his phone when she shook her head and showed her the text Athos had sent.

“Bloody hell. Just what we need on top of the rest.”

“Exactly. And does Madame know how she’s going to keep this from Féron, given the man has been around so much?”

“No, but we’ll think of something. Doing it without Louis realising will be the hard part. He has this ridiculous idea that blood is all, even with his own full brother as an example of why that’s bullshit.”

“Not to mention Athos’s brother.”

She grimaced. “Yes. And he knows about that too. I thought I’d bone up about the colectomy and aftercare, and you could take charge of researching the chemo side?”

“Yes, of course. Are our rooms ready in the house?”

“Yes, and if we put our gear together, the housekeepers will arrange for it to be shifted, if you want. You don’t have to sleep up there on your day off, Madame asked me to tell you.”

“I think Porthos will appreciate it. What about you and the others?”

“We’ll manage,” she said. “For now, I’ll stay up there all the time and let them come to me. We’re in for the long haul here, Aramis.”

“I thought as much. But no matter how difficult it is for us, it will be ten times so for him. Poor sod.”

“Could be worse. At least it’s not stage four.”

“True. And Porthos and d’Artagnan will be back at the end of the week. That’s something to look forward to.”

She allowed herself a smile. “Yes, it is.” She finished her coffee. “I’ll take today. Athos will build it into his scheduling, so could you speak to him?” She stroked his cheek. “And do come spend the night with him again if you need. It’s good for both of you.”

“Surprisingly, you’re right.”

They would need all the support from their lovers and friends they could get. As would Monsieur and Madame.

*******************************

D’Artagnan listened sympathetically to Athos explaining Monsieur’s illness and what it meant for the team. “And we need you back here as soon as possible, so I’m calling you and Porthos back on Sunday.”

“Hang on, Athos. Sylvie needs us. That death in Cambridge was murder, did you not hear? I talked to that guy myself. He told me that he’d been tempted by the recruiter, but I’d made him change his mind. Then a week later he’s dead.”

“Sylvie’s been hired to do this, and it’s up to her to handle it. She’ll have to find someone else to help, Charles.”

D’Artagnan pushed his fingers through his hair in frustration. “But why do you need both of us? I’m not a nurse. Neither is Porthos.”

“Charles, this is a direct order from Madame and from me. You’re finished on Sunday.”

He glared at the iPad’s screen. “Do you not even care about finding out who’s trying to destroy Monsieur’s business?”

“Charles, don’t.”

“Athos, this is too important to pull this on me. Sylvie’s found a connection between the companies recruiting. They’re all connected to a guy called Lucien Grimaud. Now we just need to work what he’s actually up to.”

“She doesn’t need you for this, Charles.”

“How would you know? You’re not here.”

Athos gave a frustrated sigh. “Look, at least come back on Sunday. We need to assess where you’re up to. Your job is to protect the family, not the company, and you’re not the only person who could do this. The family need the people around them they trust the most, and you’re one of them. Please don’t make this harder than it has to be,”

Put like that, d’Artagnan felt bad. “Okay. Sorry. I guess I got a little carried away. We could come back Saturday, even Friday afternoon?”

Athos’s frowned relaxed. “That would be good. We can arrange for Sylvie’s wife to stay here again too. Have someone call me and confirm pick up.”

“Will do. Can’t wait to see you again.”

“Didn’t sound like it before,” Athos teased. “Aramis is pining. Porthos needs to come home soon.”

“Yes, he does. Talk soon, love.”

He was supposed to go back downstairs to the bar to rejoin Porthos and Sylvie, but in the light of what Athos had just told him, d’Artagnan thought it prudent to keep this private. He texted Porthos to come up to their room instead, and five minutes later, his friend walked through the door. “What’s up?”

“Louis de Bourbon has cancer. Athos is pulling us out.”

Porthos collapsed onto the bed. “Fuck. Tell me everything.”

When d’Artagnan was done, Porthos rubbed his moustache with his finger, thinking. “I can see both sides of this. I think we should wait until we’ve talked with Athos and Treville. Athos is right though. It’s not our job.”

“It’s not our main job, no. But they gave us this assignment.”

“Yeah, but that’s how assignments go. You don’t always see it through to the end, cos the situation changes. Don’t stress about it, d’Artagnan. We’ve still got a few days and we’re getting results.”

“I feel I ought to tell the English police about my conversation with Terry, though.”

“Yeah but if it got into the press.... Just wait. Unless Athos says okay. You could email him.”

“I will. Aramis apparently misses you for some strange reason.”

Porthos grinned. “Fancy that. Can’t say I know what it’s like.”

D’Artagnan folded his arms. “Liar liar, pants on fire.”

“Absolutely.”

*******************************

They ended up flying back early on Saturday morning, since Friday was taken up with Monsieur’s operation. Madame had agreed to delay visiting him so she could attend a meeting with them all in the conference room. She accepted a hug from d’Artagnan and Porthos, d’Artagnan unable to believe how broken down she was from the last time he’d seen her. Now Athos’s anxiety made more sense, and he silently apologised to his husband for doubting him.

But there would be time for proper apologies later. Sylvie delayed reuniting with her wife so she could brief them all. “What we know is that a Frenchman called Lucien Grimaud is connected to all the companies involved poaching the employees. We also know that Gaston de Bourbon and Philippe Féron are major shareholders in Grimaud’s private company, Éparcy Holdings. Grimaud has gone to some trouble to obfuscate his connection with the three tech companies involved, though this is not, in itself, suspicious. The negative press is being largely generated by a Georges Marcheaux, a French-Canadian media owner. He has no obvious connection to Grimaud, but the timing is suspicious. And last, the third reported death of a de Bourbon employee in Cambridge is being considered murder. Charles has spoken to the English police, and they are due to interview him as soon as he’s available. They will coordinate with our police over the deaths in Metz and if necessary, ask the judges to reopen the investigation.”

“Louis’s brother and half-brother are behind this?” Madame asked.

“We can’t be certain,” Sylvie said. “I am also having difficulty discerning a motive beyond dragging the de Bourbon share price down to engage in predatory behaviour. If we could prove that is going on, then you may have legal recourse.”

“No.” Madame held her hand up. “Not yet. It’ll kill Louis if his brothers are involved.”

“We aren’t anywhere near proving that though, are we?” Treville said.

“No,” Sylvie said. “I won’t take any action without your approval. I understand you want Charles and Porthos to return to Paris. I will just say that allowing one or both of them to remain working with me would be enormously helpful.”

“I need them here,” Madame snapped. Athos looked at her in concern. “I want...I just want my people around me.”

“Of course,” Sylvie said. She had already discussed the options with d’Artagnan and Porthos before they’d left Metz, and it was always likely Madame would take this stance. D’Artagnan wouldn’t push it, especially now he’d seen Madame.

“What are you going to do next?” Athos asked her.

“Keep looking into Marcheaux and Grimaud. And Féron.”

Treville cleared his throat. “There’s one thing I found in my background check. Féron is heavily in debt, yet his lavish lifestyle continues unchecked.”

“But he still owns shares in Grimaud’s company, instead of selling them?” Porthos asked. “That’s interesting.”

“What exactly does Grimaud _do_?” Athos asked Sylvie.

“That’s also hard to determine. He owns or is a majority shareholder in dozens of unrelated companies, although there’s a predominance in weapons manufacture. He’s obviously interested in making money, but it looks to me as if he’s primarily interested in gaining influence in a number of different fields, to what end, I have no idea. He’s also extremely wealthy in his own right, almost enough so to rival Monsieur de Bourbon.”

“Weapons?” Madame said. “Louis refuses to have anything to do with making them.”

Sylvie nodded. “I don’t think it’s connected, personally. There’s a lot more work to do to find out what he’s up to, if anything, concerning your company.”

“Then please continue. May I suggest that you work from here, using whatever resources we can provide, and the assistance of Charles and Porthos. If you need to go back into the field, then....” Madame pursed her lips. “We can consider if our people can be released. Does that suit?”

“Perfectly, thank you. I think my next foray into the field will be to Canada, if I can’t work my contacts online. But that will be a little way down the track.”

“Excellent. Now, everyone, I must go to Louis. Aramis, Anne, I’m sorry to delay your reunions, but I need you to come with me. It’ll only be this morning. You’ll be completely free the rest of the day and this evening.”

Aramis bumped Porthos’s shoulder. “Get the roses and oysters ready, love.”

Madame grinned. “I’m surprised you need either, Aramis.”

“Ah well, I’m not as young as I used to be.”

Athos rolled his eyes. “Madame, perhaps I could drive you?”

“If you don’t mind. What about Charles?”

“Charles will be fine,” d’Artagnan said. “Go, Athos, and please give him my best wishes.”

“From me too,” Porthos said.

Madame smiled at them both. “Thank you.”

Athos gripped d’Artagnan’s shoulder and brushed a kiss against his cheek. “See you later.”

“Looking forward to it.”

Treville lingered after Madame and the others left. “Porthos, d’Artagnan, I’m going to hire private investigators to track the movements of Féron, Gaston and Grimaud. I might also ask you to help me dig a little more as well.”

“Of course, sir,” d’Artagnan said.

“This is gonna break his heart,” Porthos said. “If Féron’s behind any of this.”

“Yes.” Treville’s expression was bleak. “But for the moment, I want to concentrate on his having a heart to break. He has a mountain to climb.”

“Understood,” d’Artagnan said.

*******************************

Porthos turned around in surprise as Aramis opened their cabin door. “You’re back early.”

“Monsieur was unconscious, so all we could do was talk to his doctor. The operation was very long but successful. They’re having trouble keeping his pain under control. Madame was very upset.”

“I bet.” Porthos took Aramis in his arms. “She doesn’t need you this afternoon?”

“No, she’s fine. Going to spend time with Anton out in the sunshine and try not to think about all this. She can’t even tell her family about Louis, or his. Now there’s a possibility bloody Gaston’s involved, that’s even more the case.”

“Little turd. Pity he didn’t stick the wrong drug up his nose and save us all the hassle years ago.”

“You won’t find me disagreeing with you.” Aramis shucked his jacket, and ran his hands over Porthos’s broad chest. “We have some catching up to do.”

“No kidding.” Porthos undid the buttons on his shirt, Aramis letting him take charge and doing nothing to help. “Didn’t sleep with d’Artagnan, by the way.”

“I didn’t ask, and I wouldn’t ask. I slept with Athos.” Porthos stilled. Aramis put his hand over his husband’s. “Slept, not had sex with. I couldn’t get to sleep.”

Porthos kissed his forehead. “I’m glad you did. I didn’t sleep with him because we were sharing a room. That was enough. Think he might have appreciated it if I had, but he never asked.”

“You never felt like offering?”

“Not my type.”

Aramis lifted an eyebrow in disbelief. “He’s gorgeous.”

“He’s a baby.” But Porthos was grinning. “I’m Aramis-sexual, I’m afraid.”

“I’m pretty Porthos-sexual after all these years. Is this what happens when you get married?”

“Not that I’ve noticed.” Porthos had now stripped him of his shirt, and put his mouth on Aramis’s neck, just where it met his shoulder, sucking and biting. Aramis clung to him, his legs gone weak, his throat arching against the tender pain. “Gonna take you to bed now.”

He grabbed Aramis by his waistband and dragged him, still biting him. Aramis, unable to resist Porthos’s rare and totally fake caveman act, let him, though he did resist long enough to kick off his shoes. Porthos tossed him onto the bed and whipped Aramis’s socks off before he could blink, then lay over him, hands on each side of Aramis’s head as he took his mouth, tongue licking and seeking, his big body weighting Aramis down surprisingly carefully.

“What do you want?” Aramis asked, stroking his beard.

“You. I just need to touch you for hours and hours. I missed you. I didn’t think it would be this hard to go a couple of weeks without you. We talked all the time.” He buried his fingers in Aramis’s hair, and kissed his right cheek, then his left. “But not to able to have my hands on you...not just sex, not even sex...just this. To reach out and there you are.”

Aramis turned his head and kissed Porthos’s big palm. “I felt the same. We’re sad cases, aren’t we?”

“If we are, we’re no sadder than Athos. Or Treville, to be honest. He’s a mess the days Constance stays here.”

“Speaking of messes...any chance of a fuck?” He bucked his hips up against Porthos’s. “I know we’re having a moment and all that, but God, I need you inside me.”

Porthos grinned. “What a coincidence.”

*******************************

Treville called them to another meeting in Athos’s office the following Wednesday. As he walked in, Aramis practically saw sparks coming off the man’s hair, he was so angry. “How did this happen?” he shouted at them, tossing his iPad onto the desk with little thought for the electronics.

‘This’ was a web page with the headline, ‘Louis de Bourbon seriously ill, fears for future of DBC’. “You can’t seriously think any of us would leak this,” Aramis said.

“Not any of _you_ ,” he said. Treville’s furious glare fell upon Sylvie. “Madame Boden? Would you care to explain?”

She could have been lying, but the confusion on Sylvie’s face looked real to Aramis. “You think I did this? On what basis?”

“On the basis that you’re the only stranger who knows about Louis’s condition.”

Athos and d’Artagnan kept their expressions studiously neutral. Porthos was behind him, so Aramis couldn’t see his face. Anne was too good at keeping her feelings hidden. Treville wasn’t even trying.

“What possible reason would I have?” Sylvie said, her voice calm, but her hands trembling a little.

“Money? Jealousy? You have had ample opportunity.”

“As has every nurse and doctor and clerk and security guard at the hospital and the clinics,” she said. “Any one of whom could have been bribed by anyone to spill the beans. It wasn’t me. Feel free to check my IP logs if you don’t believe me.”

“And your phone? Your laptop?”

She pulled her phone out of her bag and put it on the table, unlocking it. “Athos, you’re welcome to fetch anything from my cabin to search it. I’ll stay right here.”

D’Artagnan moved, but Athos put his hand up. “That won’t be necessary,” he said. “Jean, she’s not our culprit, I would lay good money on it.”

Treville gave Athos a hard glare, but Athos was unmoved. “He’s right,” Anne said. “What possible motive could she have?”

“The important thing is what Madame does now,” Aramis said. “She can’t deny it outright. There are too many people who could contradict it.”

“Which site is that from?” Sylvie asked, pulling the iPad closer. “Oh, that’s one of Marcheaux’s. What a surprise.”

“Which means he’s got people actively investigating Louis’s private affairs,” d’Artagnan said. “Right here in Paris, even if he’s in Canada.”

“Do we know that for sure?” Porthos asked. “Sylvie?”

“His headquarters are in Montreal. Where he is at any given moment is anyone’s guess.”

“Féron is in Paris. Gaston is in London. Grimaud is based in Geneva. Makes sense that Marcheaux would come to them.”

“If he has anything to do with this,” Treville said, still looking at Sylvie. “We don’t have any proof he’s connected to the other two.”

“He uses a private jet, doesn’t he?” Anne said. “We should be able to trace its movements.”

“D’Artagnan, Porthos, get on that,” Treville said. “Athos, for completeness sake and to clear Sylvie of suspicion, I want you to inspect her equipment. Sylvie, please remain with Aramis while he does that. Anne, you and I need to speak to Madame about how to respond to this. Damn it, this is the last thing Louis needs.”

“Sir,” Aramis said. “This might be a positive. At least now Madame has a solid reason to keep Féron away from the residence, and anyone else who might be a problem.”

“Not sure that positive outweighs the negative,” Treville said. “But yes, that’s a benefit. Athos, if you would?”

“Sylvie, let’s have coffee,” Aramis said. “Athos will be quick.”

“Wait, let me give you the passwords.” Athos passed her a notepad and Sylvie wrote them down. “There.”

Aramis was convinced she had nothing to hide, but didn’t blame her for the suppressed anger radiating off her as they went to the kitchen for coffee. “You can see how it might look,” he ventured as they sat down.

“And no one gave the smallest thought to whether, if I had done something so vile, I would have the brains to cover it up effectively. I don’t know which is more insulting.”

“We’ve been through this before, you see. Last time, Louis ended up poisoned and Athos nearly died.”

Her eyes grew round. “Yeah?”

Since it was old news and Rochefort was dead, there was no real reason not to tell her, so Aramis explained how Rochefort had manipulated Madame and Monsieur, fed stories to the press, and did his best to isolate Madame from those who loved and cared about her.

“That’s unbelievable.”

“It’s all true, I swear. Which is why Treville was so eager to stamp this out before it got too far. Unfortunately, it looks like we failed.”

Sylvie’s expression became thoughtful. “Not completely. For one, this success might make them careless. And secondly, there are all kinds of reasons that keeping the illness secret could be bad for the corporation. Look at Steve Jobs. Hiding how ill he really was didn’t help Apple at all.”

“Jobs died.”

She met his glare with a steady gaze of her own. “So might Louis. So if the board, especially Treville and Van Laar, is smart, they’ll manage things better. If Louis recovers, then the company will be in a much better position.”

“They won’t stop at this if the idea is to take him down as well as the company.”

“Maybe not, but transparency will reassure the share holders better than looking defensive. Madame de Bourbon has a lot of goodwill stored up because of the foundation. She can spend a bit of that to make the critics look like lunatics.”

“Maybe. She’s a target too.”

“Then she needs a good PR firm to help her through this.”

“She has one.”

Sylvie frowned. “Hmmm. Then she might need a better one. This isn’t my speciality, you realise.”

“Nor mine. I’m just a nurse with a gun.”

She laughed. “Interesting description.”

“Why did you leave the DCPJ, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“We wanted to get out of Paris, be closer to Clementine’s brother and his family, and this is more lucrative. I’m good at what I do.”

“So it seems. Have you given any thought to how we shut those behind this down? Marcheaux isn’t subject to French law which is why he can put this garbage out.”

“It depends why they’re doing this. Tell me about Gaston de Bourbon.”

Aramis considered. “Hmmm. Not a lot to tell. Henri de Bourbon died a very rich man, leaving the bulk of his estate to the four children, except for his shares in de Bourbon Corporation which he left to Louis. Only fair since Louis’s inventions were the reason for the corporation’s existence—Henri was just the founder and backer while Louis was a minor. Gaston, as far as we know, has never had a job in his life, flunked out of university, and blew through his annual allowance every year in months, so alone of all the children, his inheritance was put in a trust, and an extremely generous allowance from it is paid to him every year. The entire amount can be released to him if the trustees—his siblings and Henri’s lawyers—are convinced he can manage it. Of course, he never will. He’s had his hand out for a while to his sisters and to Louis, but since he then blows everything they give him on drugs and gambling and idiotic investments, they’ve turned off the money tap.”

“So we don’t which is uppermost in his mind? Resentment or greed?”

“No, I suppose not. Why does it matter?”

She leant her head on her hand. “It matters because one means the total annihilation of DBC without caring about the fallout, and the other means he still has something to lose.”

“Right. And Lucien Grimaud? What’s his background?”

“I have no idea. He’s sprung from nowhere.”

“Everyone comes from somewhere.”

She shook her head. “Maybe so, but I’ve got nothing. No social media presence. No criminal record. No educational record. No family. All we know is what he owns. But who he is, I can’t find out.”

“That’s creepy.”

“Yeah, a bit. I don’t even know what he looks like, for sure.”

Aramis received a text from Athos. _My office, both of you, at your convenience_. “Looks like he’s finished the search. He’d like us to return to his office.”

Sylvie rose without a word, and headed toward Athos’s office. Aramis followed, confident that she had been cleared. Athos rose as they entered. “Sylvie, I’d like to extend my and Treville’s apologies for his accusation this morning.” He handed her the phone.

“It was a bit much, yeah. On the other hand, Aramis explained why he’s so jumpy.”

“Rochefort,” Aramis said as Athos turned to him.

“Yes. At least this time, Madame and Monsieur will be working together, not against each other. Please, continue with your work, and let us know if we can be of further assistance.”

“Thank you.”

She left the office, but Aramis remained. “She was just as angry over Treville thinking she’d be too stupid to cover her tracks.”

“Yes, I realised it was an exercise in futility trying to catch her out the way he was doing it. But she didn’t do it. She has quite the poker face, but no one’s that good.”

“No, they’re not. She said she’s been unable to find out the smallest thing about Lucien Grimaud as a person. Maybe you could ask Madame if she has any idea, and I’ll ask Monsieur when he’s in a fit state. But she also thinks it could be difficult to stop him, whatever he’s up to.”

“If he’s responsible for murder, he’ll be stopped. The English police are coming to Paris on Friday to speak to Charles and Porthos.”

Aramis rubbed his chin. “I’d forgotten about the deaths. That moves all this into seriously scary territory.”

“Old man de Bourbon helped Gaston cover up some nasty stuff. The boy has no moral compass at all. On the other hand, he has no power either. It’s the men with the money I worry about.” Athos sighed. “Anyway, you’re free to go do whatever you were doing. Thanks for your help with Sylvie.”

“ _De nada_ ,” he said. “Are you getting enough sleep, Athos?”

“Not really, but there’s not a lot I can do about it. I already have two worrywarts nagging me over it, so don’t you start.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it. But if you want a hand, I’m just revising chemotherapy protocols and there will be nearly two months before Monsieur begins that.”

“I’ll bear it in mind, thank you.”

Thus dismissed, Aramis went back to the cabin to get on with his research. He was glad he didn’t have to work with Sylvie on this. Fighting shadows was not something he enjoyed.

*******************************

Athos read the news story sparked by the press release put out by Madame’s PR company, and though he was no expert in such matters, thought it ought to go some way to repairing the damage done by the original leak. Madame had posed for photos in Monsieur’s hospital room, with Monsieur looking brave and cheerful, and the two of them had spoken about the challenges ahead of them and the love that would sustain them. It carefully didn’t address the leak itself, or any other rumours flying around about their marriage, but it was a rebuke to them nonetheless.

It was only a start, of course, and share prices hadn’t yet recovered. But every little bit helped. Now Monsieur had left hospital, his personal privacy could be preserved much more successfully.

“Athos? They’re ready for you now.” D’Artagnan lounged on the doorframe, expression solemn.

“Did it go well?”

D’Artagnan shrugged. “I told them the truth, and so did Porthos. They want to talk to Sylvie too.”

“Anyone they want. We have nothing to hide.”

“I’ll drop in and let her know.”

Athos closed his laptop and brushed a kiss on d’Artagnan’s cheek as he went past. “Go find Anne, tell her how it went.”

The two English detectives had been set up in the conference room for the interviews with the staff. They had already spoken to Treville and Athos had little to add to what his boss had told them. It was encouraging to note they were taking the potential conspiracy behind the three deaths seriously, but how far they would get, Athos had no idea. D’Artagnan and Porthos had proved Marcheaux’s aircraft spent most of the last two months in Paris, and the cops would have the authority to track his immigration status.

“And you have no idea why Lucien Grimaud or Georges Marcheaux would want to harm Louis de Bourbon’s business?” the senior detective asked.

“No. None. Unless it’s some kind of business tactic, but it all seems a bit extreme to those who know more about such matters.”

“Thank you, Mr de la Fère. If you could send Ms Boden along now, then I think we’ll be done after that.”

He called Sylvie to ask her to step along to the residence, then found a message from d’Artagnan on his phone.

_Féron’s here_

_Shit_

_Yeah. Come to cabin?_

He hurried to their place and found d’Artagnan pacing impatiently. “Monsieur insists there’s no reason to keep him out!”

“But the risk of infection—”

“He hasn’t started chemo, so his immune system is normal right now. Madame can’t argue with him without revealing what we’re investigating. Shit.”

Athos took hold of d’Artagnan’s arms. “Calm down. All Féron will find out is that Monsieur has cancer, and they’ve gone public with that. So long as Monsieur doesn’t know what we know, we’re safe. He can’t reveal too much without him being outed as the source.”

“I don’t want him near Madame or Anton.”

“Be sensible. What can he do to them?”

“Nothing.” D’Artagnan relaxed. “Sorry. I’m just wound up.”

Athos drew him close. “We all are. But if Féron tries to get Monsieur to sign anything or give him any money, Treville will slap an incompetency order on Monsieur on Madame’s behalf.” He kissed d’Artagnan’s cheek, then stroked it. “The cops are on our side, I think. It all puts pressure on them, so they might just go away, if we’re lucky.”

“Rochefort didn’t.”

“Rochefort was insane.”

“Féron isn’t stable, and I hear Gaston is just barking mad.”

“You have to keep some distance, love. It’s our job to see things objectively when the family can’t.”

“I know.” D’Artagnan went to the sofa and sat down. “I never expected to be this close or involved when I took this job.”

“We’re in an unusual position. Sometimes I wonder if it’s good for us, but we’re here now. And it brought me you and back to Anne, so I can’t complain.” Athos sat next to him and nuzzled at his neck. “Maybe you should take some time off. Go visit your mum.”

“I can’t. Not without you and Anne.”

“Okay. But I want you to relax. Féron isn’t your concern. Treville and I will handle him. Unless you’re actually on guard duty, just forget about him.”

“You’re no better than I am at objectivity.”

“Do as I say etcetera etcetera.” Athos’s phone pinged and he looked at it. “I have to go.” He kissed d’Artagnan’s cheek. “Go have a work out or a swim. We’re in this for the long haul. You need to manage your stress. So do I,” he added before d’Artagnan could point it out. “I’ll come back soon. Think about all the evil things you can do with me.”

“Now _that’s_ a way to manage my stress.”

“See? I have the _best_ ideas.”

*******************************

With the departure of the police, and Monsieur home and not yet started on what would be a gruelling course of chemotherapy, the family and their staff entered something like a holding pattern. The day after the English police left, Sylvie went home to her wife who was doubtless very grateful to have her home again. Over the next six weeks, staff losses slowed to below normal, and even the negative stories about Monsieur and the corporation were fewer in number. Treville continued urging his private investigators to look into Marcheaux and Grimaud, but was keeping his powder dry so far as what they had reported to him.

One serious potential problem was boredom. Monsieur had cancelled all his engagements for the next year that could not be carried out via the internet, and Madame had reduced her speaking engagements to almost nil. Even the annual charity ball was cancelled, something Athos thought she would never do, but she’d insisted that her husband’s fight against cancer was the most important thing in her life right now, and that the ball would not receive the attention it deserved.

So Athos had several highly trained staff members with very specialised skills who would be kicking their heels at lot of the time at least until Christmas. Anne and Aramis could at least carry out nursing duties, and were a great help to the couple in helping them cope with and understand all the medical advice and decisions. But Porthos and d’Artagnan, and indeed all the family’s drivers and pilots, were being seriously underused. Making them redundant was unthinkable, and sending them on long leave was unfeasible because they _were_ needed for medical appointments and taking Anton to school, even if those didn’t take much time. Madame had made it clear she wanted her people _there_ whether they had an assignment or not. It made her feel safe and stable, and of course no one would argue against that.

It was a perfect opportunity to train Porthos up as his successor because Athos was buggered if he was going to be management until he dropped dead. The two of them started working on a way to make the security arranging more efficient, and less dependent on temporary employees, which to Athos’s mind, was a glaring weak spot in their armour.

Unfortunately, Athos couldn’t rope d’Artagnan into this, which was a shame because his husband was already complaining about becoming muscle-bound from spending so much time in the gym less than a week after Monsieur returned home from hospital. Unfortunately d’Artagnan’s leisure had very little benefit for his two lovers, who still had work to do.

Talking to Constance just after Monsieur was released from hospital provided a solution. “We need to get Madame out of the house,” she insisted. “But she feels terrible leaving Monsieur on his own. If we put it to her that leaving her staff unoccupied could end up with them quitting in frustration....”

“You think she’d agree to go out and enjoy herself for their sake?”

“I know she would. Anne is totally on your side on this. Shall we give it a go?”

So Athos and Anne put it to Madame, who was shocked that she might be making life unpleasant for her people, and instantly agreed to make an effort to go out so that not only she had a change of scenery, but Agathe and Anton did too. “And Louis will be up to easy walks in a couple of weeks, I’m sure.”

“And he could do with the break before he starts chemotherapy,” Anne pointed out.

“Yes, of course. You know, maybe we should try and fit in a week at Chamonix after all. He does love it up there, and Féron won’t bother him either.”

Monsieur’s doctors thought a holiday was just what he needed before a long course of gruelling treatment, so the two weeks before he was due to start chemotherapy were set aside for that. Even before, he managed a few gentle excursions in the fresh air, and Madame’s temper and stress levels benefited from getting away from the claustrophobic atmosphere in the residence.

Athos wished he could shake the elegiac feel to the preparations for Chamonix. Monsieur had already lost weight because of the surgery, was already struggling with the pain relief clashing with his existing bipolar disorder, and had started to fret about losing his hair and his ability to work on his designs over the long months of chemotherapy. None of that was imaginary or ridiculous, and Athos felt for him and his fight to cope with something most people managed to avoid until much later in life. Monsieur’s lawyers were revising his will, Athos and Treville asked to work on transitional arrangements for staff should the worst happen, and the corporation’s chief director, Van Laar, had been a frequent visitor since Monsieur left hospital.

And then there was Féron. Athos’s visceral dislike of the fussy snob had intensified with the cutting remarks Féron made in Athos’s hearing about Monsieur’s staff and their incompetency as Féron saw it. It was all too much like Rochefort for Athos’s liking even if Féron had no power over the company, and no particular influence over Monsieur’s opinions of his people. Monsieur tended to see it all as humour, if a little ill-judged, and Athos forced himself to pay no attention to it.

But he didn’t like the man, and the suspicion Féron was only at the residence to gather dirt on Monsieur didn’t lift at all. Athos would be glad when Monsieur began chemo and visitors would have to be restricted. He half expected Monsieur to invite Féron to Chamonix, but fortunately Madame had insisted on no visitors at all. Even Constance would not be coming so Madame could not use her presence to get on with work. Madame said her time was all for her husband’s on this visit.

Athos just wished he could stop amending that in his private thoughts to ‘this last visit’.

*******************************

Easy as the flight to Geneva had been, Louis had still found it a trial, and Aramis suggested to Anne that maybe he should have an hour or two’s rest at the terminal before they took the helicopter to Chamonix. Anne looked around her in the helicopter hanger. “Here?”

“No, at the main terminal.”

“Moving him there will involve more climbing in and out of vehicles than just transferring direct to the helicopter. Ask him but I bet he says to just get moving.”

She was right, of course. Louis just wanted the trip over and done with, though he was sweating with pain by the time they got him up the short set of steps from the helipad to the main path. “I’m so sorry, darling,” Madame fretted, fussing about him.

“Don’t, Anne. I want to be here. It was a good idea.” He put his hand up to draw her down for a kiss. “Now we can relax.”

Aramis certainly hoped so. For a man who’d been in decent health all his life, the cancer had been a huge shock, and Louis was finding the restrictions on his movements a trial. Madame had tried to hide her own stress from him, succeeding only because Louis was not the most perceptive of men, but even he had mentioned to Aramis that he wished she would get out and do her normal things again. He felt stifled. If he was like this now, a month after chemo was going to be hell for him.

But for now, they were in beautiful weather, away from the city and the residence and its reminders of his illness. If Louis felt like designing anything, he had all the tools he needed. Madame had all the support she needed to do whatever she liked either alone, or with Anton, or with the three of them. Aramis wanted them all to be able to breathe, just for a bit.

Long, languid days of sun and peace followed. Even though none of them had been overworked or even busy for nearly three months, it felt different up here. Madame and d’Artagnan, often Anne and Athos too, went for long hikes. Porthos spent a lot of time with Anton, letting Agathe have time to herself. And Aramis spent a lot of time with Louis, either tending to him, or talking to him, for strange as it seemed, Louis had become a good friend, despite the affair. The way Louis had allowed Rochefort into their sanctum and put his family and his staff at such horrible risk, had gone a long way towards making him realise that everyone could make serious mistakes without being actively evil. But that didn’t explain why Louis _liked_ his company.

Maybe it was Aramis’s age. He was their oldest bodyguard, a good twelve years older than Louis, and while he was hardly a father figure like Treville, maybe Louis enjoyed having an older brother surrogate. Aramis couldn’t begrudge the man, facing a terrible disease and a treatment which would test him severely. Beside, Louis could be quite likeable. He could also be rude, abrupt, thoughtless, childish and extremely selfish. Still, he wasn’t a bad man at heart, and had done a lot of growing up in the last few years. About time too.

Three days before the regretted end of their holiday, Aramis joined Louis on the back deck for tea. Louis had found coffee caused digestive troubles, so Athos had introduced him to the English habit of drinking tea, which sat better with him. Aramis quite liked it too, and once the rest of their party went off for their day’s amusements, they’d fallen into a habit of sharing a pot mid-morning, enjoying the good weather and the warmth. “I don’t want to go back,” Louis admitted.

“You don’t have to. I’m sure we could arrange for the chemo to be started here.”

Louis turned to him. “No. I don’t want this place associated with any of that. It’s bad enough that the kidnapping blighted our memories of coming here. I want Anne to have one place where we were happy, to remember that.”

“I understand.”

“Do you? It’s not just for her, but for Anton. Having a kid...there’s a lot of responsibility to your legacy all of a sudden. You want things to be good for them, even after you can’t be there for them.”

“I’m sure your father thought the same about you.”

“He did. That’s why I can’t understand him abandoning Philippe, you know? It just wasn’t his style at all. But I can’t fix that. Philippe says he’s over it, so that’s good.”

Aramis merely smiled. He wasn’t at all convinced Féron was over anything, but he wasn’t going to talk about that now.

“You don’t have kids, do you, Aramis? I mean, no former girlfriends or anything like that?”

“No...no. I had a scare with a girlfriend while I was in nursing school, but she miscarried. I would have loved a child. Son or daughter, I wouldn't have cared. She didn’t want to be pregnant though.”

Louis nodded. “After Anne’s experience, I understand why women can be turned off. She wants another though. We both do.” He fiddled with his cup, then set it down. “The doctor said I’ll be infertile for a while after the chemo. Possible permanently.”

“Yes. Unfortunately, it’s a risk. You can bank sperm. I’m sure a week or so’s delay in the chemo wouldn’t made a difference.”

“We talked about it. The thing is...Aramis, this is a bit of a delicate subject, but I need to talk to you about it. Not just to anyone, but to you. Is that okay?”

“Sure, Louis. I’m not easily shocked.”

Louis gave him a queasy grin. “Wait until I finish before you decide. You know bipolar disorder is strongly linked to genetics, right?”

“Yes, I did know that.”

“The thing is...the cancer I’ve got, they think could be familial. Dad’s uncle had it, and I only recently found out that Dad had it when he died. So...that’s two strikes on my DNA. Then there’s Philippe’s spinal degeneration—that’s another disease that runs in our family. Anne and I have discussed it and, um, we think we ought to use donated sperm anyway. She’s happy with that idea. Well, not _happy_ , but she understands.”

Aramis smiled encouragingly. “And they’d still be your kid, Louis. The sperm is only a microscopic part of being a father, no pun intended.”

“Microscopic, yeah, good one.” Louis bit his lip. “I wanted to talk to you about this up here before the chemo started, so you know it’s not just the chemicals messing with my brain, that this is something Anne and I have sat down and decided while I’m still right in the head.” Aramis nodded, putting milk into his tea. “The thing is, and we agree completely on this...we want to ask you to donate the sperm.”

Aramis, in the process of lifting his cup to his lips, went completely still. “Me?” He was surprised his voice didn’t squeak in shock. He put the cup down. “Why?”

“Because Anne likes you. I like you. And you kind of look like me, you know, colouring and all that. Not as handsome of course.” Aramis managed to grin, even though his head is spinning. “You don’t have any kids so...this would be a chance to leave a legacy.”

“Louis, the child would be _yours_. Not mine.”

“I know. I just meant genetically, but if I don’t make it through, the kid will need a father figure.”

Aramis gaped at him. “Are you sure you’ve talked to Anne about this? All of it?”

“Yeah. You think I’d lie about that?”

“Louis, I’m not going to be the father of your kid, whether you die or not. Which you aren’t, by the way.”

“I thought we agreed to be realistic about this.”

“We did. But I won’t accept any outcome other than success, so that’s that.”

“Okay. But will you?”

 _Jesus_. “I’d need to talk to Porthos.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s my husband.”

“Okay. I didn’t think he’d care one way or the other.”

 _Now that’s the Louis de Bourbon we all know and want to strangle from time to time._ “I think he _will_ care, actually. I’ll let you know. But I want to talk to Anne too. Is that all right?”

“If you feel you need to, sure.”

“Fine.” The tea had gone cold. “I should freshen this,” Aramis said, standing and picking up the pot.

“Yeah, that’d be good. Thanks.”

Porthos was in the kitchen, making himself a coffee. “You look like you’ve just swallowed a wasp,” he said when he spotted Aramis. “What’s he done now?”

“Asked me to be a sperm donor for Madame’s next kid.”

Porthos nearly dropped his cup. “He what?”

“You heard me and keep it down.” Aramis ran his hand through his hair over and over, unable to get the comfort he normally got from the gesture. Porthos captured his hand and pulled him into his arms, which worked much better. “He seemed to think it was a perfectly logical thing to do.”

“I bet it is, to him. But he’s still fertile, isn’t he? I mean, he might be after the chemo too, right?”

“There are genetic problems he doesn’t want to pass on, and I totally get that. What I don’t get is, why _me_?”

“Because the baby would be gorgeous and smart and kind?”

“Porthos.”

“I’m not kidding.”

“I slept with his wife and it nearly killed him!”

“Yeah, but this isn’t the same thing at all. Unless he suggested you...no, he couldn’t have.”

“He didn’t.” Aramis ran the conversation through in his head. “No, I’m sure he just means the normal way for sperm donation. Which I don’t object to in principle—I’m not using the little buggers, so someone else may as well have them—but it’s too weird that it’s _him_ and it’s _me._ He didn’t even know why I’d want to talk to you about it first.”

“That’s Monsieur for you.” Porthos kissed his forehead. “I have no objections at all. It’s up to you, and them. Why not donate the sperm and they can use it or not use it? It doesn’t go off, does it?”

“No, it’s frozen. I need to think about it. I need to talk to Anne...Madame. And maybe our Anne too. And Athos.”

“Athos might be weird about it.”

“Don’t think so. God, why do I get myself into these situations?”

“I think this one isn’t your fault, for a change.” Aramis gave Porthos a dirty look for that remark. “Calm down. You don’t need to decide this second, do you?”

“No.”

“Then just sit on it. Talk to the others if you want. Monsieur can damn well wait after springing it on you.”

They heard little feet approaching, so Aramis put his finger to his lips.

“Porthos? Can you come play with me now?”

Porthos turned to Anton. “Sure, squirt. Coming right now.” He kissed Aramis again. “Got to go. Talk to you later, okay?”

“Okay.”

Aramis made a completely fresh pot of tea, and put together a plate of the biscuits Louis liked and which they encouraged him to indulge in after he’d lost so much weight. He drew a deep breath and made himself relax, then carried the food and drink out to the deck. He would really prefer it if the rest of the rest of the morning passed without any more talk of uses for his semen.

*******************************

He’d hoped to speak to Athos before Madame, but as luck would have it, she saw Aramis first, coming back from the hike before the others. “Hi...what’s wrong, Aramis?”

He made himself smile. “Do you have a minute or two?”

“Of course. It’s not Louis, is it? There’s nothing wrong—”

“He’s fine.” He led them to the deck which Louis had abandoned in favour of a nap in the living room, and they sat down. “He, uh, mentioned...um...the possibility of sperm donation.”

She folded her hands in her lap. “Oh. And you don’t like the idea?”

“Ordinarily, I’d be delighted to help. But Anne...won’t it look a bit odd for the two of you if number two ends up looking a lot like me? I mean, even without the...you know. People will notice. Unless you expect me to resign.”

“Don’t you _dare_. No, I don’t think people will notice. People see what they expect to see, and if Louis’s there, then they’ll expect the child to look like him. Um, we didn’t pick you because of the you know what. We’re also prepared to ask Athos and d’Artagnan. I just thought...you’d be the most understanding.”

“Oh.” His shoulders lost their tension, and she smiled at him. “I’ve been thinking about it all day and wondering, why me? He said it’s because of my looks. Colouring, mostly.”

“Well, it is that too, but it’s not crucial. If it bothers you that much though, we can ask the others.” She took his hand. “In a way, it’s supposed to be a thank you for all you’ve done for us. Not even our siblings are as close as you guys are.”

“I should hope not.” At her frown, he said, “I’m talking about Gaston.”

“And Philippe,” she added with a wince. “You don’t have to decide now. I wish he’d waited until I’d come back, but you know what he’s like.”

“Yes, I do. I’d like to help, but I think maybe you should ask the others anyway. One, I have no idea if my sperm are viable, and two, you might like to have the option of changing your mind without needing to ask again.”

“That’s a good idea.” She patted his hand. “Thank you. I know we ask so much of you guys. And our women too.”

“You give a lot back. You inspire loyalty more than a real queen would.”

She giggled. “Oh God, never. So, is that it? Is that all that was bothering you?”

“That’s it. And now it isn’t.”

“Great. I wish we weren’t going back so soon, but he needs to begin treatment.”

“We’ll do our best to make it as easy and comfortable as we can. He...sort of hinted he wished you would keep busy with your usual work.”

She gave him a wry look. “I know, he said as much to me. I just can’t...every thought I have seems to be about the cancer, worrying about him dying, worrying about what Féron and his cronies are up to. I can’t give it the attention it needs.”

“Maybe appoint someone to work with you as co-head? It’s a good idea to have a back up executive officer.”

“I could do that. It could help take my mind off it all. You must think me so indulgent, Aramis.”

“Anne, you are the very last person in the world I would think that of.” He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it. “We’re all cheering you on, both of you. Don’t worry what we’re thinking, because it’s all good.”

She wiped at her eyes. “You’re making me cry.”

“Sorry.”

She laughed. “You are not.” She blew her nose. “I suppose I better find the son and heir and see how crazy he’s made Porthos today.”

“Not too much, but he’d welcome a rescue from his _maman_ , I’m sure.”

“Then I’ll do that. Thank you.”

She gave him a lovely smile, then left. Aramis sighed quietly. Like Athos, he loved two people at the same time, but unlike Athos, he’d accepted one of them had to remain out of reach. Fortunately, Porthos had enough love to fill the emptiness in Aramis’s heart where his queen would have lived. in another life.

*******************************

D’Artagnan and Anne flew everyone back from Geneva on Sunday, and Monsieur began his chemotherapy on Tuesday. Anne and Aramis had given every single member of staff strict guidelines about hygiene and infection risks to reduce the changes of Monsieur catching anything while his immune system was low. Even the children—especially the children, in some ways—had to observe the protocols, and every adult involved with them had to make sure the kids as well as the adults themselves washed hands, changed clothes, and shed shoes before coming into the residence.

Aramis had also briefed them all on the likely side effects. “The most obvious will be hair loss, but there are many others that will distress Monsieur and cause him pain. Most we can’t avoid, but we can mitigate. What you need to remember is that if he’s crabby, there’s a good reason, and he will feel weak and sick for weeks and weeks on end. If you can’t be patient with that, either get out of his sphere, or get out of the job.” He wasn’t, of course, referring to Athos’s team—all of them were well used to Monsieur and with dealing with him at his worst. They’d been _selected_ for patience.

D’Artagnan and Porthos made Madame got out of the residence as often as possible, for her own sanity and for Monsieur’s. It wasn’t a hardship at all, and the change in Madame’s happiness had been obvious from when they’d started doing this. But, Aramis warned, “She’ll want to help Louis and be around him, and that might be the worst thing for both of them. He’ll have very little energy or patience, and she already fusses too much. She can’t do anything for him. So we’ll be working on a couple of short periods a day for the two of them, one with and one without Anton, and the rest of the time, she can consider herself free to do what she wants. You need to reinforce that this is what _he_ wants.”

“I can do that,” Porthos said. “Whether she’ll listen is another thing.”

“She will,” d’Artagnan said. “She’s not stupid, and she trusts Aramis and Anne.”

With the bosses sort out, d’Artagnan’s biggest concern was keeping his two lovers happy, Anne more than Athos, since she bore such a heavy responsibility. He and Athos went to her room in the house when she was on duty and she wanted them, and she came to them when she wasn’t working, and felt like sex or comfort. Which wasn’t always. Anne liked her alone time, and more often than not, she was either too tired or too fed up to cope with both of them. Sometimes she just wanted one of them, other times it was neither. They’d learned not to take it personally.

But it meant that when they did have a night together, it was precious and wonderful. So when Anne checked her phone one morning two weeks after they’d returned from Chamonix, as she lay in d’Artagnan’s arms, Athos spooned up on her other side, d’Artagnan was less than happy at the anger in her expression. “What?”

“This.” She sat up and showed him her phone. An email from Constance.

“Racism? What the hell?”

“Lemme see,” Athos said, struggling to wake up. He took the phone from Anne and read the email. “Jesus Christ on a bicycle.”

“I have to go.”

But Athos put his hand on her hip to restrain her, though only lightly. “Love, this isn’t your business. She has Constance and a whole suite of staff for this. It’s your day off. It’s a day off for all of us.”

“She’s my _friend_ , Athos.”

“Yes. But she needs you for something else even more important than sorting out her social media worries.”

For a moment, d’Artagnan thought the two of them were going have a fight about it. Athos stroked her hip with his thumb, his green eyes meeting hers, not looking away, just letting her think. She slumped. “I know. I just...worry.”

D’Artagnan put his arms around her and pulled her back down to the bed. “We all do, darling. But we have to pace ourselves. Isn’t that right, Athos?”

“Absolutely,” Athos said, smiling at him repeating Athos’s own sentiments back at him. “Anne, relax. You can’t do a damn thing right now anyway, and Madame won’t thank you for bringing her thoughts to this so early. Later, you can talk to her. But you need to keep it short. Constance should know better than to email you with this when you’re off-duty.”

“She’s angry and upset, and she’s a friend too.”

“I know. But she has Jean, and you have us, and Anne has her and her staff. Don’t go yet. We miss you.”

She kissed Athos then, and took d’Artagnan’s hand between hers and placed it on her breast. “I miss you too. But it’s starting up again, isn’t it?”

“Maybe. I’ll talk to Jean later about it. Now, I believe a certain extremely beautiful woman promised me I could have her this morning because I had to watch Charles fuck you last night.”

“Oh yes, she might have said something along those lines. Charles, that’s how you remember it?”

He kissed her back as he gently massaged her breast, rolling the nipple into hardness. “Yeah, definitely. And this time I can watch.”

She moved his hand down to her cleft. “You can do more than watch.”

*******************************

With a bit of careful managing, d’Artagnan and Athos kept Anne focused on having a day off with them, speeding off to Chantilly for lunch and a long walk. Athos went off to call Constance at one point but didn’t say what he’d talked about—presumably the twitter storm over the stocking of offensive items in one of the foundation-funded fair trade stores, but maybe he was telling Constance off for pestering Anne. D’Artagnan didn’t ask until Anne had swapped shifts with Aramis, and he was alone with Athos in their cabin that evening.

“I did suggest that Anne had enough on her plate, yes,” Athos said when d’Artagnan asked.

“What did she say?”

Athos coloured. “She pointed out that she and Madame had stuck with Anne over our divorce and it was a bit rich of me to be telling her about managing their friendship. She was quite right, of course.”

“That’s nasty. You weren’t trying to force them apart.”

“No, she had a point. And the things she’s worried about are serious. There’s been several widely shared blog posts about various questionable practices in Foundation-founded or funded operations, and considering the work it does with migrants and in the developing world, accusations of racism are very serious.”

“ _Anne_ can’t do a damn thing about it though.”

“No, but Constance wanted some advice about how best to broach it with Madame. Monsieur’s quite unwell at the moment.”

“See, this is why Aramis said she should hand the thing off to a co-head.”

“She agrees. Unfortunately, she’s tapped Constance for that position.”

D’Artagnan stared at him. “Bugger.”

“Yes. It makes sense, of course, and Constance has a couple of assistants who can take on the PA role. But it puts Constance under a lot of pressure just at the point where, as Anne said, it’s all starting up again.”

“Are we sure this is part of the same shit?”

“We are now. Jean emailed. Two of the corporation’s downstream suppliers have been exposed as using actual slave labour. Which is heinous, but it can’t be a coincidence that this and the Foundation stories are all coming out at the same time. Monsieur is not to be told a word about either, you understand.”

“No, of course.” God, this would be a hell of a blow to them, but especially to Madame. “What can we do?”

“We do nothing. It’s still not our job. It’s nothing to do with Louis either—he doesn’t run the company, he just designs for them and owns shares. Jean and the other directors have to deal with it and we have to let them. From my angle, this would be a security issue for public appearances if they were on their normal routine. They’re not. So...we do nothing.”

“It’s not right, though.”

“No. Ah, and Aramis says Philippe Féron wants to visit as soon as this round of chemo is over, which will be at the end of this week.”

“Lovely. That’s all they need.”

“Oh, you haven’t heard the best bit,” Athos said, with a cynical twist to his lips. “He wants to bring dear little Gaston along. You know, to reconcile with his big brother.”

“Really?” From everything d’Artagnan had heard, Gaston wouldn’t spit on Monsieur if he was on fire, and in fact would add extra petrol. “And Monsieur’s agreed?”

“Of course. Louis loves his family. He wants nothing more than for all of them to get along.”

“And we do what?”

“Again, nothing. He’s a grown man, and one of us will be there while they meet, suitably dosed up with anti-nausea medication, of course.”

D’Artagnan snorted. “They don’t make stuff that strong.”

“Well, we’ll have to manage. Now, it’s still our day off, love. Shall we go to bed and forget about all this for a few hours?”

“Sounds fine by me. Not thinking is my speciality.”

Athos only lifted an eyebrow, took d’Artagnan’s arm, and led him to their bedroom.

*******************************

Aramis was on the treadmill when Anne came in looking for him. “Oh there you are. I need a favour.”

He turned off the machine. “Any time. What?”

“You know the creep and the creep’s half-brother are visiting this afternoon?”

“Sadly, yes.”

“I can’t do it. I can’t sit there and listen to their crap and not lose my temper. You’re the best of us at faking being nice.”

“I _am_ nice, Anne.”

“Well, then. That makes you better than me and please please _please_ can you babysit Louis while they’re there?”

“Of course.” He picked up his towel and wiped his face. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a situation you can’t handle before.”

“I’ve never been asked to sit still while a cancer sufferer and dear friend is visited by the two biggest leeches on the planet.”

“What about Madame?”

“She’ll be there. She claims she can cope.” Anne’s expression indicated she didn’t believe that at all. Aramis tended to agree.

“Okay. What time?”

“Three. They know not to stay too long. I’ll help you enforce that if you like.”

“I’m sure there won’t be a problem.”

She kissed his cheek. “Thank you. I’ve been stressed about it. Even Athos told me to calm down.”

“ _Athos_? Wow.”

“I know, right? Also, Féron has been asked not to discuss any difficulties with the company, though I wouldn’t put it past Gaston the shithead to try slipping it in. Anne will do her best to change the discussion, and you can fake an emergency if you have to.”

“I hope that won’t be necessary, but okay. I’ll come up about quarter to, if that’s all right.”

“Perfect. Sorry to bother you on your day off.”

Aramis waved a hand at her. “It’s not a problem. I was only going to have sex with Porthos.”

“I’ll tell him you said it that way.”

“Minx. Shoo.”

He finished his workout, but he’d told Anne a small lie, because his religious beliefs tended to embarrass his friends, and he had always been rather private about them anyway. He borrowed one of the cars and drove to a small church whose priest had befriended him years ago. Father Aubry was an intelligent and enlightened man, though not a young one. He knew of Aramis and Porthos’s relationship, and celebrated it with Aramis as a gift from God, even if the Church didn’t approve, and did a lot of good work with the underprivileged in his community. Father Aubry would probably not be there today, but Aramis wanted the time in the church to pray and reflect. His God was not the all powerful father that the Church would have him believe in, but the divine in each person’s heart, and it was to that part of himself, to that part of existence, he needed peace to address.

He sat in a pew at the back of the church, reciting the prayers he’d learned in childhood, as a way to centre his thoughts and accept the stresses of caring for a very ill man. Nursing had been what he’d wanted to do, although the army had increasingly become an environment he didn’t enjoy, so he’d left. He often regretted that he hadn’t just gone to work as a civilian in the health system, though he had a job which brought him many rewards, financial and emotional. Nursing Louis was satisfying, but also painful, because there was only so much Aramis could do to ameliorate the symptoms the chemo caused him.

And behind all that was the dragging worry that it still might not be enough.

And he also had to watch Anne’s pain, which he was helpless to ease. Watching anyone suffer and be unable to help was torment for him, three times over when it was someone he loved. These were the things he used prayer and reflection to reconcile and accept. Others, like d’Artagnan, turned their worries into a restless need to do something, to help, to act. Porthos turned it into relentless care for his friends. Athos used to drink, and now he used his relationships as his anchor. Everyone was different, and he accepted that.

After an hour, he felt better. Strong enough to sit quietly and listen to two vultures prey on a sick man, at least.

Then he went back to their cabin and spent an hour with his beloved, because that did as much good for his soul as prayer did.

*******************************

Gaston de Bourbon was a twerp. It was the only word for him. He was as different as it was possible to imagine from Philippe Féron—twitchy, short, stupid, and impossibly rude to everyone, even his sister-in-law. Féron at least pretended to have manners around Anne. Gaston sneered and pouted, yet despite all that, Louis maintained an amazing composure and tolerance towards his bratty sibling. Considering that he wasn’t the most tolerant of men, and he was still in pain and discomfort from the chemo round, Aramis was impressed. And surprised. Louis wasn’t good at pretending to be nicer than he was, so either he genuinely didn’t notice Gaston was a snot, or he didn’t care.

Even Féron showed annoyance from time to time at his half-brother’s lack of civilised behaviour and whininess. When Gaston started up _again_ on the subject of the unfairness of his father’s will—despite Anne’s gentle hints that this was not a good time to bring that up, and Aramis’s rather less gentle attempt to change the subject, which earned him a ‘who the hell are _you_?’ look, complete with the man tilting his head back to actually stare down his nose at Aramis—Féron snapped, “For heaven’s sake, Gaston. Can’t you see our brother is not in a fit state to talk about that?”

Gaston pouted. “I was just making conversation.”

“Talk about something else.”

If Féron had been a glass of water, he’d have been an ice-cube from Gaston’s glare. But at least Gaston didn’t mention the will again. Unfortunately, he couldn’t resist a dig at Anne. “Such a terrible business about those dolls. Mortifying, even.”

Anne started to answer, but Louis got in first. “What dolls? Anne?”

“Just a supplier problem,” she murmured.

“I’ll say,” Gaston said with sickening relish. “Golliwogs? Really? In this day and age?”

“What’s he talking about?” Louis was growing too tired for this.

“Nothing important, darling. A small problem with one of the shops. Aramis, I think Louis....”

“Yes, agreed. _Messieurs_ , we should cut this short, I believe.” He stood to increase the intimidation factor. “We can arrange another visit, I’m sure.”

“Do you let your servants push you around like this, Louis?” Gaston asked in a sneering drawl that made Aramis itch to slap him.

“Oh, Aramis isn’t a servant. He’s a real bully though,” Louis said affectionately.

“How _charming_. I wouldn’t employ someone like that.”

 _Fortunately, you aren’t your brother_. Aramis smiled brightly. “Sir? Time to go.”

Gaston stood. “Very well. Hope to see you again soon, Louis. Next time, maybe with a bit of _privacy._ ” He walked out without a single word to Anne.

Féron was more gracious. “I appreciate the time, Louis, Anne. I hope things go well with the treatment. Such a shame for this to happen. Such a shame.”

Aramis escorted the two men down in the lift, resisting the temptation to kick them in their arrogant butts. As soon as they left, he bolted back up to Louis’s office, and helped him back to bed. “Gaston was always a handful,” Louis said. “He’ll grow up one day.”

Aramis helped Louis lay down, and Anne brought him some Lucozade. Aramis refrained from pointing out that Gaston was twenty-six and more than old enough to have grown up and learned some manners. He sent a text to their Anne to say she could come back now, then waited with his Anne in her sitting room until she arrived.

Milady took one look at Anne and enfolded her in a hug. “Was it awful?” she asked Aramis over Anne’s head.

“Fairly,” Aramis said.

“Gaston’s a sod,” Anne said, surprising them both. She normally refrained from that kind of language. “And Féron is a real bastard.”

“Well, we already knew that,” Aramis said, grinning at her. She managed a smile. “Perhaps Gaston’s invitation to visit again could be lost in the post?”

“I wish it could. Louis is so happy though. I’d hate Anton to think he could behave like that and get away with it.”

“Yes, agreed. Are you all right now?”

“Yes, I think so. Anne can sit with us. Thank you, Aramis.”

“Thank you from me too,” Milady said, though she didn’t smile. “Sounds like I did the right thing to swap.”

“I think we should carry a tranquiliser dart gun with us next time. Just in case.”

Anne giggled, and Aramis gave a little bow. “See you both later.”

He didn’t head back to his cabin, but to Athos’s office. Athos lifted his head as Aramis leaned on the doorframe. “How did it go?”

“I have two questions—is it too early to drink, and if I shot Gaston with an actual bullet, do you think Treville would stump up for a defence lawyer?”

“No and no. That bad, was it?”

Aramis walked in and sat down. “From Monsieur’s point of view? He didn’t seem bothered. From Madame’s, it was horrible. From mine, it was infuriating. He makes Victor Savoy look like a graduate from charm school.”

Athos grimaced. “He always was a nasty little shit. What I want to know is what he and Féron hope to gain from this? Louis is not going to give Gaston a euro more in allowance than he already has. He didn’t mention anything else?”

“Just general whining mixed with sycophancy. Not attractive. Unfortunately Louis feels the need to keep his family around him.” Athos’s expression was difficult to read at the best of times, but Aramis couldn’t help but wonder if the question of brothers and families wasn’t a painful one for him to contemplate. “At least he’s not agreed to give either of them anything or underwrite any loans.”

“Good. Treville sent me this.” Athos swung his laptop around to show Aramis. On the screen was a photo of a man entering a building, which meant exactly zero to Aramis, so he looked at Athos in confusion. “That is the elusive Lucien Grimaud, and that address is that of Philippe Féron.”

Aramis exhaled. “So they do know each other.”

“The suspicion is that they more than ‘know’ each other. And this is George Marcheaux leaving the same address at seven am.”

“Are we talking about a walk of shame?”

Athos looked at him. “You’re the expert. What do you think?”

“I think there are many reasons someone might stay at another person’s house. But it does connect them more closely.”

“What else do we know?”

“Frustratingly little. Grimaud is like a bloody ghost, Treville says. Marcheaux less so, but still hard to track. Sylvie has spent weeks digging and we still know almost nothing about Grimaud, and absolutely nothing about a connection between them.”

“Except they both know Féron well enough to go to his home.”

“Precisely. If Anne’s okay with it, if Féron and Gaston return, I’d like you to sit in with them again.”

“Gaston won’t be happy. He wanted ‘privacy’.”

“Too bad. He’s not meeting Louis privately and that’s that. Same for Féron. Madame is completely on board with that.”

That flat tone in Athos’s voice usually meant disgust, anger or a combination of both. “I’m happy to do whatever you want on that. Anne can’t stand either of them, so she won’t mind.”

“Good.” Athos’s face suddenly relaxed, and he looked at Aramis with something much more like friendliness. “Now you go enjoy the rest of your day off. Take Porthos out somewhere. I don’t want anyone getting cabin fever over this.”

“Aye aye, captain. And may I suggest you don’t spend too much more time stuck in here today?”

“You may, and I might even listen. Go away now, my friend.” He smiled though, and Aramis smiled back. It was long past due for him to take his husband out for a date night.

*******************************

Three weeks later, Jean Treville asked to meet Madame and Athos privately at the residence. Madame opted to come to Athos’s office, leaving Aramis and Anne in charge of Monsieur. Monsieur was in the middle of the next course of chemo, and being hit very hard by side effects. His two nurse guards were spending all their waking hours trying to help the poor sod. Athos only had to deal with it at second hand, supporting his friends, his friends’ lovers, and more and more often, Madame herself.

Anne de Bourbon had had something of a charmed life, though she’d worked hard and effectively with all her privilege to give something back to the world. Other than the kidnapping on the day she gave birth to her son, and marriage to a man with a difficult personality and mental illness, Madame had never faced anything one might call true adversity. Monsieur’s cancer diagnosis had acted like a nail bomb to shatter the serenity of her carefully organised, carefully protected life. Even as she knew so many others had had it so much worse in life, she struggled to understand the basic questions her staff had already faced one way or another—like, ‘what if my partner dies?’, ‘what if I’m left alone?’, ‘how will this change him?’, and ‘how will it change me?’

And the biggest one was ‘why me?’ Athos knew that one so very, very well. So it was often to him she came to talk privately, not wanting to burden those closer to her when they were doing so much. Athos didn’t mind, though the only answer he could give her was ‘why not you?’ Strangely, she took some comfort from that.’

But Jean’s visit had nothing to do with Louis’s illness, and everything to do with Louis’s family. “Thank you for meeting with me, Madame,” he said as they sat down. “We’ve made some discoveries which are somewhat disturbing, but also illuminating, regarding Philippe Féron and Gaston.”

“Go on,” she said, when he paused as if to assess her readiness for bad news.

“Our investigator managed to get into a conversation with Gaston at a bar, when Gaston’s tongue was loosened by copious amounts of booze. He’s recorded Gaston saying his brother is a fool, easily duped, and likely to give him a big wad of cash soon. So I think we can scratch any small benefit of the doubt we might be offering towards him.”

“I didn’t have one,” Madame said. “But being an ungracious conniving creep isn’t illegal, so what does this give us?”

“Nothing,” Jean said, “other than we can rule out any benign motive. We also proved beyond reasonable doubt that Philippe Féron is sexually involved with Georges Marcheaux.” He showed them pictures of Féron kissing Marcheaux in a non-platonic manner. “And we can also prove that at least four of the nastiest articles about you and Louis were written by Féron under a pen name. Sylvie was able to trace the pseudonym back to him. It’s an old pseudonym and he probably thought it wouldn’t ever be connected to him.”

“So, is this pure hate?” Madame asked. “Resentment over Henri’s will?”

“Possibly. I’m still unconvinced that Henri ignored Philippe—it would be totally unlike the man I knew, and I bet if we checked his bank transactions back then, we’d find funds being transferred to the mother. But it’s possible she fed Féron that line, true or not, and he would have no reason to disbelieve her. But I think there are bigger stakes here than a bit of petty spite. The negative press isn’t just hitting the share price. It’s hitting the confidence of our potential partners, especially those who value their ethical profile. I think Féron and Marcheaux are trying to make the corporation look like an unappealing prospect for ethical investors and collaborators. I’m not sure with what eventual aim, but that’s the impact they’re having, and I believe, deliberately so.”

“So how do we stop them?” Athos asked. “None of this is illegal.”

“Depends why they’re doing it. We could call them out. Louis could tell Féron he knows what he’s up to. But that means we first have to tell him what he’s been up to.”

“No,” Madame said instantly. “He’s not strong enough. Athos, you know that.”

Athos held up his hand. “Yes, I do, and so does Jean,” he added, sending a sharp glance his friend’s way. “The other way to expose them in the press.”

Jean stroked his chin. “Not sure that works to our advantage. Louis’s own brothers are conspiring against him? How does that look?”

“We could send Porthos to talk to the man. Or we all could, like we did with Bonacieux.” Madame smiled a little at the memory of a victory over a nasty bully. “But he might not agree to see us. All that’s likely to happen is that he changes pen names.”

“True. Madame? What do you think?”

“We could confront them at the house.?”

Athos had an sudden thought. “I have an even better idea. How good are you all at acting?”

*******************************

The plan would still lead to Louis being distressed, but Madame was persuaded that if the revelation came with a solution at the same time, then the distress would be less than if they told him immediately what was happening with no way of stopping Féron and Marcheaux. Christine Savoy was recruited into it as well, since she was the sister closest to her brother, and the one Madame liked the best of her in-laws. When they were ready to go, she came to stay at the residence, something Louis found a pleasure, despite his weakened condition.

They waited until he finished his third course of chemo, and was about to have a two-week break, which they all hoped would give him a chance to get over the negative emotions the plan would give him. The break would coincide with Christmas so Madame arranged for their family and staff to go to Chamonix for a much quieter New Year break than they normally had. Aramis even agreed to forego his annual visit to his family in Spain so he could be there for Louis and Madame. Athos vowed Aramis and Porthos would be taking an entire month off and away from the residence when Louis finished his chemo, and that when they returned, Athos would take _his_ lovers away for an extended break too. But for now, all anyone wanted for Louis to get well.

Madame extended the invitation to Féron and Gaston to come to the residence because Louis had been told that the chemo wasn’t working and the cancer had spread. Madame told them that she wanted the brothers to have a chance to say goodbye before the trip to the snow, which was likely to be the last time he would be able to see them. Christine Savoy played her part, simultaneously rejoicing over the ‘reconciliation’, and apparently grieving too hard to have a coherent conversation.

Athos greeted Féron and Gaston in reception. “Good morning, messieurs. Please forgive Monsieur de Bourbon for keeping you waiting but there’s been a slight problem. He’s asked if you would please wait in the living room, and I will arrange coffee and refreshments for you there.”

“I want cake and champagne,” Gaston announced. “Good champagne.”

Féron gave his sibling a look of disgust. “Coffee for me, Monsieur de la Fère, and perhaps cake or biscuits. Whatever you have.”

“Very good, monsieur. This way, please.”

Athos took them to the living room, and stepped out to order the food and drink. He was pleased Gaston was being a glutton, and had Charles bring some of the best whisky in the house for Féron, who was rumoured to have a weakness for it. “I didn’t ask for this,” Féron said as Charles set the tray down, the whisky with an ice bucket beside it.

“Monsieur’s orders, monsieur,” Athos said. “Only the best for you, he said.”

“Well, that’s jolly nice of him,” Féron said with a satisfied purr. “Thirty-year-old Highland Park, eh? Louis does know his Scotch.”

“If there is anything else, please press that button and one of us will be there directly. Monsieur apologises again. It could be half an hour. I do hope that’s satisfactory?”

Gaston drank his first glass of champagne in a single swallow. Charles refilled without being asked, then bowed. “Just keep the champagne coming. Now piss off.”

Athos bowed and he and Charles left the room. “Charming,” Charles muttered.

“Oh, quite. But let’s hope the alcohol helps.”

In Athos’s office, Aramis and Jean Treville were listening. “How’s Louis?” Athos asked Aramis.

“Sick. Looks the part, unfortunately. He won’t be up to much, but Christine and Madame will do the rest.”

“Perfect. So now we wait.”

Over the speaker, Gaston’s voice came through. “Look at this, Philippe. He can serve vintage Dom Pérignon, while I’m down to my last few euros.”

“Never mind, dear brother. You will be well rewarded for your part in this. Lucien is generous when he’s happy.”

“I don’t care about his happiness. He just better make sure those shares are transferred to us.”

“Oh they will be. But you lose sight of the larger picture as you always do. It’s about our long-term future.”

“One without _dear brother_ in it, you mean.”

“Quite.” Féron sounded disgustingly smug. “Now be quiet for a few moments while I send this off to Georges, and then we can see if a dead cat does actually bounce. I suspect this one won’t.”

Charles looked at Athos. ‘Dead cat?’, he mouthed.

“Share prices,” Jean said, without explaining further. Charles frowned but stayed quiet.

Nothing more was heard on the speaker for a good five minutes, then the living room’s call buzzer sent an alert to Athos’s phone. He and Charles bolted to attend their visitors.

“More champagne,” Gaston snapped. “And chocolate.”

“Very good, monsieur,” Athos said, signalling to Charles who took away the empty bottle and cleared the dirty plates. “Anything else?”

“No. Why are you still here?”

Athos bowed, and waited outside the door for Charles to return. Serge had been primed to prepare the fanciest, most sinfully delicious treats he could make, so Charles came back with a plate of chocolate truffles and pralines, and another ice bucket and champagne. He and Athos set everything out. “Monsieur Féron, would you like something with your whisky?”

“Another coffee. Bring a pot.” Athos noted that he had set his tablet aside and was slightly slurring his words. Gaston was sprawling on his sofa. _Excellent_.

“Of course.”

Once they had been resupplied, Athos and Charles snuck back to the office. Jean showed them his iPad. “What a surprise—an article has just been posted about Louis’s pending death by a known Féron pen name on a Marcheaux site.”

“Are they using our WiFi?” Athos asked.

“Yes, and I’ve logged the traffic. Aramis, send Christine in.”

Aramis slipped out to go upstairs to fetch Christine Savoy. Three minutes later, they heard the door of the living room open and close. “Gaston. You came.”

“Of course, dear sister,” Gaston said, sickly sweet. “And I believe you know who this is.”

“Yes. Our dear lost brother.” Christine let out a sob. “If only we weren’t welcoming you just as we are losing Louis.”

The sound of glass and china clinking was heard, then Féron said, “I know I’m no replacement, but we should be together now, however briefly. When can we see him?”

“I don’t know. The doctor...the doctor....” She apparently became too overcome to speak, and Féron was heard comforting her.

“Does he say how long?” Gaston asked.

“It could be days...hours...we don’t know. Oh Gaston, it’s so horrible. I never thought we’d lose him first.”

“I bet you wish it was me.”

“No! Gaston, what an appalling thing to say. You are my _blood_. You both are.”

Charles rolled his eyes at Athos, who smirked back. Christine should have been on the stage.

After a few more minutes of this, Christine excused herself to go and find Anne de Bourbon. As soon as the door closed, Gaston sneered, “Christ, what a fucking whiny bitch. She was always such a cunt to me. You haven’t missed a damn thing not being part of this family.”

“Never mind. Once Lucien tears the corporation apart and sells off the pieces, the only family you’ll want to be part of is the Féron side of it. The de Bourbon name will be mud, and consigned to history.”

Jean lifted his head. “I think we have enough. Athos?”

“Agreed.” He clicked on his radio. “Aramis, come in, over?”

“Here, Athos, over.”

“Please ask Madame if she wishes to deal with the refuse or shall we, over?”

After a minute, Aramis replied. “She would like to meet you when you’re ready, so the refuse can be disposed of by all of us, over.”

“Give us a few minutes to contact the police, over.”

Jean was on the phone to the British cops, who were waiting to learn if they had proof of Grimaud’s intentions. Hr finished the call and looked at Athos. “I want to be there to watch.”

Athos radioed Aramis. “Please meet us in reception now, over.”

Jean led them out. Aramis, Madame, Christine Savoy, and Anne walked down the stairs like an incredibly good-looking joint wrath of God. Madame held her hand out to Athos, who took it. “Thank you, Athos. I’m giving you the honour of telling them they’re no longer welcome in my home.”

Charles opened the door, startling Féron and Gaston in the act of lifting expensive booze to their lips. “What’s going on?” Féron asked. “Anne?”

“Messieurs, I’m afraid you must leave, and never return,” Athos said. “Immediately.”

Gaston stood. “What is the meaning of this? Anne? Why are you letting this...this minion speak to us like this?”

Christine Savoy moved forward, her face a perfect picture of innocence. “Oh, I’m sorry, Gaston. Didn’t you know? Louis isn’t actually dying at all. In fact, the doctors are very pleased. His scans are clear. He’s officially in remission. Too bad for your plans.”

“And too bad for your friends, Georges and Lucien,” Jean said. “I’m afraid you won’t be buying any shares cheaply, as trading was suspended ten minutes so. I don’t think Monsieur Marcheaux will be very pleased at all with you, Féron.”

Féron went white, clasping his cane as if he thought he might topple off the sofa. Gaston tried to bluff his way out. “What are you talking about? Who the hell, are you?”

“Jean Treville, member of the board of directors of de Bourbon Corporation. And you know exactly what we’re talking about. By the way, we know who’s been writing those articles about Louis, and you can expect to be exposed right about....” He looked at his watch. “Now.”

“We were listening to your _lovely_ conversation,” Charles said. “It’s not nice to talk about people like that.”

“Feel free to resist our attempt to evict you,” Anne said. “Please. It would be a pleasure to make you.”

“Absolutely,” Aramis said. “So, get up, Monsieur Féron. Oh, do you need assistance? Let me help you.” He went over to Féron’s side and forced him to stand, ignored the man’s attempt to push him away.

Charles moved towards Gaston, and Athos cut off his attempt to dodge. They took Gaston’s arms and frogmarched him to the door, Aramis and Féron behind. The ladies stepped aside as the siblings were forced out of the mansion to the drive, where Porthos stood over the chauffeur and their car. Féron was helped in one side of the passenger seat, Gaston in the other. “Go. Now,” Porthos said, slamming the door. He spoke on the radio to alert the gate and permiter guards.

“Is it over?” Madame asked, looking a little pale. Aramis and Anne took her arms. “I’m all right.”

“Come inside, sit down,” Christine said. “Jean, Athos, please?”

They all went inside, to the conference room, not the living room which had not yet been decontaminated. Charles and Aramis went for coffee and some of that good whisky, while Anne and Christine sat with Madame. “Is Louis all right?” Athos asked.

“He’s asleep,” Anne said. “I’ll go up in a minute. No, sit still, darling. He’s fine for a few minutes.”

Aramis stood. “I’ll go.”

Porthos took his place at Madame’s side. She gave him a lovely smile.

“It’s over, Madame,” Jean said. “We’ll arrange a photoshoot up at Chamonix for the family, but Féron’s pseudonyms are being revealed now, and Constance has sent the press release. The French police will be arresting Grimaud as soon as they can, for extradition to Britain.”

“It’s going to break Louis’s heart.”

“He doesn’t need to know immediately. Wait until he’s a little stronger, then tell him. I’ll help. The main thing is, we’ve stopped this in its tracks.”

She looked up at Athos, then at her companions. “You all did this. Thank you. Christine, I can’t thank you enough.”

“Thank me, my dear? Thank your people. I was just playing a small role. Gentlemen, Anne, if this one is ever silly enough to let you go, you come to me, immediately.”

“Sorry, but I’m not ever letting them go,” Madame said, smiling. “I want them guarding me and Louis and our children until they’re senile, because even then they’ll be better than any other bodyguards a woman could wish for.”

“I ain’t going nowhere, Madame,” Porthos rumbled. “Ever. You’ll have to carry me out.”

“Not a chance,” Madame said. “I’m all right now,” she said to her companions. Porthos and Christine moved away, but kept a hawk-like watch on her. “Now what happens, Jean?”

“A well earned rest for everyone, I think.”

“And a celebratory dinner as soon as Louis is up to it,” she replied. “Two brothers lost, a family gained. I call that an excellent bargain.”

*******************************

Aramis was there a week later when Anne and Treville told Louis what his brothers had been up to. Louis listened in silence, his eyes half-closed, almost as if he was half-asleep. When Treville finished, Louis remained silent.

“Darling?” Anne said. “Are you all right?”

“Why? Do we know what Grimaud wanted?”

“We believe it might be political more than financial,” Treville said. “Grimaud has gone underground and we don’t know much about him, but as far as we can determine, he has a nihilist philosophy and believes in creating chaos for its own sake. Madame’s philanthropy, your own, your avowed philosophy and political stances, are anathema to him.”

“You mean he fucks shit up for fun.”

“More or less. It’s a profitable approach, on the whole. He owns shares in a lot of military and paramilitary suppliers. Féron has admitted he encountered Grimaud three years ago, but it was only in the last year that Grimaud approached him with a plan to destabilise the corporation and you personally. He wanted you to lose interest in your corporation, even to sell your shares—that was the point of all the personal attacks on you, Anne, your marriage. Féron agreed because he bears a grudge of your father’s perceived unfair treatment. Gaston...well, you know what Gaston’s grievances are.”

“I wanted to believe,” Louis whispered. “I _know_ what Gaston is like. I just _hoped_ that a miracle had occurred. After Féron contacted me....” He reached for Madame’s hand. “I’ve been a fool.”

“No, Louis, you haven’t.” She looked up in appeal at Aramis.

“Louis, you had the best motives, the best intentions,” Aramis said. “The most blessed intentions. The fault is theirs, not yours. You gave each of them a chance to turn away. They chose not to. You did nothing wrong, nothing foolish. This is not a Rochefort situation in the slightest. Your judgement wasn’t at fault.”

“I agree,” Treville said. “Sometimes you just can’t help people. Especially greedy people.”

Louis sighed. “No. Anne, what do you want to do now? You’ve had the worst of this.”

“I want to go up to Chamonix with you. I want to give our people a rest and a reward. I want you to recover health and happiness. I want...I want to have another baby, and have you be the father you have been to Anton to him or her. I want to be a mother again, and your wife again, and I want that for a very, very long time.”

For the first time since they’d come in, for the first time in weeks it seemed like, Louis smiled. “Done. Done, done, and done. Aramis, Jean, make it so.”

Aramis grinned. “Aye aye, captain.”

*******************************

Anne got her wishes as quickly as they could be granted. A few days after Louis learned about Féron, the household decamped to Chamonix where the family did a photoshoot for Vogue, announcing Louis’s remission. After that, the break was kept strictly private. Aramis and Porthos were not with them, and nor were Athos, Milady, or d’Artagnan. Aramis took Porthos to Spain for a month, while d’Artagnan took his lovers to Gascony, and then to Scotland, of all places. Treville and Constance quietly got married, a fact they only announced once everyone was back at the mansion, and refused to apologise for.

“Everything to do with the de Bourbons is a circus,” Treville said gruffly when Athos asked him. “Constance had that with her first marriage.”

“Madame will be offended,” Aramis pointed out.

“I doubt it,” Treville replied. Milady smirked, which made Aramis wonder if the two Annes had known about the marriage in advance. “Anyway, it’s our business. Speaking of business, are you all ready to get back to work?”

“Definitely,” Porthos said. Aramis wasn’t so sure, but he hadn’t made a decision about things, so they’d agreed not to mention it to anyone for now.

Meanwhile, life went on. Féron’s poison pen had done real damage to the Foundation. Constance remained co-head, and would in time, become solely in charge, but Anne had to stay involved until things were on a more stable footing. She brought on advisors, funding was increased from the corporation specifically for refugee support, and she personally led investigations into how inappropriate items had come to be put on sale by Foundation-funded shops. The charity ball was permanently cancelled in favour of a party for disadvantaged families, with a week-long series of events aimed at helping them get through one of the hardest times of the year. And in a move which had brought a huge amount of positive press coverage, Louis announced that fifty percent of his income from the corporation would now be given direct to the Foundation.

All this while Anne was pregnant. Aramis donated sperm, but so did Athos, d’Artagnan, Porthos, and Treville. At Aramis’s suggestion, none of them knew which donation had been the one which had worked. The child would know in due course, but until then, no one but Anne and Louis would, and that was how they all wanted it. The child was Anne and Louis’s, and no one else’s.

But a pregnant boss, and another still needing medical follow ups and attention, meant Milady and Aramis weren’t quite done with their nursing duties. When Constance announced she too was expecting, Athos joked about adding a maternity wing to the mansion. “Please don’t say that around Louis,” Milady said. “He’ll bloody do it. You know he will.”

“I don’t see a downside to that,” Athos said. Milady had thrown a cushion at him.

The only nagging worry, one which occupied more of the team’s thoughts than Aramis wished, was that Grimaud had evaded the police and was off the radar despite all attempts, official and otherwise, to find him. Athos and Treville fretted, and when they fretted, their friends couldn’t avoid being pulled in. Treville had authorised Sylvie to track stock movements and any activity that might indicate him making a move, taking an interest. But so far, she’d reported nothing that they could use to nail him down.

Athos personally led the team on Madame’s first public event following their return from Chamonix, to assess that everyone was as sharp as he needed them to be. Aramis would have been insulted, if Porthos hadn’t agreed it was necessary. In the briefing that followed, Athos said he was happy.

“That doesn’t mean we relax. It’s not just Grimaud. Georges Marcheaux took a hit, so did Féron. And Gaston de Bourbon runs with a really nasty crowd. This is all in addition to the usual threats. Anne, I think we should give some thought to decoy runs from time to time. What do you think?”

“I agree, but we need to hire more people, bring them into the inner team. Luc Brujon is keen. There’s a young woman called Samara Alaman Porthos met in Cambridge, who expressed an interest too.” She looked at Porthos to explain.

“Yeah. She’s a karate black belt, French parents and bilingual, working in the Cambridge facility, but not finding it to her liking. When we interviewed her, she wanted to know what we do and said she’d love to do the training and work with Louis.”

Athos nodded. “Check her out, bring her over for an interview. Put your feelers out, everyone. Constance will need her own team very soon as she’ll be headlining some events instead of Madame. That means she will need coverage for all her public outings, including medical appointments, and for her son. D’Artagnan, you can work with Luc to build her team, starting now.”

“And not work with Monsieur?”

“That’s right. Since Louis is still recovering, he’s happy with that idea. He won’t be going many places for the next few months, by which time we should have recruited more people. All of you will be training newcomers very soon.” Athos smiled. “Please don’t break anyone.”

“What about London next week?” Aramis asked. “Are we splitting the team for that?”

“No, everyone goes. Constance will be staying at home and has no engagements. Anton is travelling with his mother.”

D’Artagnan frowned, as did Milady. “Is that a good idea?” he asked.

“I don’t think so, but she is adamant. Now she’s expecting, she’s aware she’ll have to slow down again when the baby’s born so she wants Anton to have as much fun before then as possible. Give him lots of attention.”

“He’s a well-behaved child, d’Artagnan. There’s not too much extra risk involved,” Aramis said.

“I don’t like it. But it’s not up to me.”

“No, it’s not,” Athos said. “Right. Anne, do the usual skills assessment on Luc Brujon, and hand him to d’Artagnan over if you think he’s ready. Porthos, contact that woman, then I need you to go over the details for London, so be back here this afternoon. Aramis, you’re on equipment. Madame and Anton need new vests, and so will Constance, so order them at the same time, and make sure the ladies wear them even if they’re a little uncomfortable. You and d’Artagnan need to do more exit/entry practice with Anton, Agathe and Madame before we go. Porthos and Luc will drive the cars over in advance and collect from Heathrow. I want the refits checked and double checked before they leave the country. I’ll be travelling with you all on this one too. Treville will take over from me temporarily while we’re gone.”

The meeting broke up then, and Aramis went off to inspect the cars for London with d’Artagnan. Louis owned a vehicle testing track east of Paris and since there was a half day slot free, Aramis decided to test the refits first and deal with the Kevlar vest fittings that afternoon, once Anton was back from school. As they drove to the track, Aramis chatted to d’Artagnan over their vehicle-to-vehicle comms. “I don’t think Athos is ever going to accept being the boss, do you?”

“No,” d’Artagnan replied. “He hates it. The trouble is, so does Porthos. They’re both good at it, but neither of them want to be desk-bound.”

“Job-sharing?”

“New hire, I suspect. Maybe this Samara Alaman might be interested. She’s damn bright, Porthos said.”

“You didn’t speak to her?”

“No. He did that interview.”

“We’re going to need more than her. I don’t have any current military contacts, or know any nurses interested. I’m a bit of an oddity that way.”

D’Artagnan chuckled. “Militarily trained nurses with a penchant for fast cars, guns, and personal security? I thought they were common as hell.”

“Yeah, me too. I think we’ll need to approach the veteran support groups, maybe look at some of the people coming back with injuries that stop them working in the military, but who can do our job.”

“And who can deal with Monsieur’s personality and Madame’s image? I can see those numbering in the ones.”

“Possibly,” Aramis agreed. “Thing is, the family can’t count on us being around forever. People leave, get sick, retire. Get bored, even.”

“Not me, but I get to play with the fun toys. Does your car feel a little rolly to you? Mine does.”

“A bit. The suspension might need more tweaking with the extra weight.”

A couple of minutes' silence followed, then suddenly, d’Artagnan asked, “Are you bored, Aramis? With the job? I mean, now Louis’s on the mend, it’s back to the routine.”

The kid could be too perceptive. “I’ve been doing this a long time.”

“Not actually an answer.”

“Sorry. That’s all you’ll get for now. I’m sorting a few things out in my head. Uh, do you have to tell Athos I just said that?”

“Nope. Up to you. I’m just asking as a concerned friend.”

Aramis smiled. “Then as a friend, thank you. I love this job but I loved my other jobs too. I like helping people. There are many ways to do that.”

“Gotcha. Just don’t run away too fast, okay? I’ll miss the hell out of you.”

“If I go, I won’t be cutting ties at all. I can promise you that. And Porthos is going nowhere.”

“Good to know.”

When they arrived at the test track, the technician there logged into the onboard computers and took readings. While they waited for this, d’Artagnan took Aramis aside. “Listen, I know this has to be your decision, and I won’t say a word to Athos or anyone. But you and Porthos are his closest friends. You particularly. When you do...if you do...what you have to do, be careful with him. He’s fragile.”

“No, my friend, you’re wrong. He used to be. You and Anne have healed him.” D’Artagnan pleaded with his eyes. “I promise I won’t do anything to hurt him intentionally, and I’ll do everything possible to avoid hurting him unintentionally. I’ll involve you if I have to. But I can’t not do what my heart needs because of Athos. He has you, Anne, and Porthos. Treville too. And Constance. He’s not the man he was five years ago.”

“No, he’s happy. But he had to fight for it.” D’Artagnan put his hand on Aramis’s shoulder. “You fought for it too. And you have a right to be happy as well. I don’t want to stop you at all. I just...God, I don’t know what I mean.”

“I think I know. They’re ready,” Aramis said, nodding at the techs. “Let’s go make those cars work their guts out.”

*******************************

“Since when do eleven year olds have a graduation?” Athos asked.

“Since this eleven-year-old’s honorary uncle is Louis de Bourbon and has offered to give a speech to Pierre’s primary school,” d’Artagnan explained. “It’s just an end of year party, but since Pierre is going onto _collège_ in September, Constance thought it would be fun if Louis came along to engage the kids in his year before they start at the new school.”

“A security _nightmare_ ,” Athos muttered.

D’Artagnan kissed the back of his neck. “Don’t worry, it’ll be fine. The boys have been going there for years and there’s never been a problem.”

“Since when are you the boss soothing the jittery newbie?”

“Since you did the new hires and still haven’t accepted that Samara just might be good enough to take over from you like I hoped.”

“Maybe. Not yet.”

D’Artagnan hoped soon though. Though new at the game, Samara Alaman was sharp, preternaturally quick to learn, a natural manager and scarily good at computers and spreadsheets. Between Athos and Treville’s training, in three months, Samara was now Athos’s PA and replacement in training. This released Athos back to the team, easing the recruitment issue. Strangely, D’Artagnan’s husband wasn’t as happy as he should have been. “Is it because she’s a woman?”

Athos gave him a look of frank disbelief. “Don’t let Anne hear you say that. Don’t let _me_ hear you say that again. She’s new, that’s all. And I don’t have the history with her that I have with you lot.”

“I was new not so many years ago. Are you going to have to beat her to a pulp before you accept her too?” Athos’s wide-eyed stricken look cut d’Artagnan to his soul, and he quickly apologised. ‘I’m sorry, love. That was shitty of me. I was joking.”

“I know. I just...well, I can’t joke about it. Not now, not ever. But I suppose I _am_ being unnecessarily resistant to change.”

“You worry. Because of Grimaud?”

Athos winced. “A bit. Mainly because any time the family goes out of the mansion, I can only guess seventy-five percent of the threat to any decent level of accuracy. Twenty-five percent will always come out of the blue, and the potential for that increases every day. Grimaud was one of those threats, don’t forget.”

“But now we know about him and can plan.”

“Can we?”

“Yes.” D’Artagnan put his arm around Athos’s shoulders. “Bed. Anne will be here soon. I don’t want to keep her waiting.”

With two weeks to go before Louis’s July visit to the school, Treville rang Athos to tell him that Lucien Grimaud was in custody, and expected to be extradited to Britain to face charges on three counts of murder. D’Artagnan read the text Athos sent to the team— _Grimaud in custody_ —and punched the air with delight. He had met the families of the employees who’d been killed, had met one of the victims personally, and spoken to a dozen others who could have been on the hit list if Grimaud’s activities hadn’t been exposed.

 _Calls for champagne_ , he texted back.

_Up at the house at seven. Treville’s shout_

The arrest allayed some of Athos’s worry, and Samara continued to settle in well. D’Artagnan liked her. Porthos thought she was brilliant, to the point where d’Artagnan caught Aramis looking a little woeful as he left Porthos talking to Samara yet again. “Jealous?” d’Artagnan asked.

“Why wouldn’t I be? She’s young, fun, clever and novel. He’s not going to sleep with her. He’s just going to make her his new best friend.”

D’Artagnan hooked his arm through Aramis’s and made him walk towards the gardens. “A friend, yes. Never a best friend. He’ll never show her his worst side, or trust her to like him despite it.”

“I’m so old, d’Artagnan. Samara is like a breath of fresh air.”

“You’re the wind beneath his wings, Aramis. Ow.” He rubbed his shoulder and pouted at Aramis.

“You deserved it. That’s _horrible_.”

“The petrol in his tank? His reason for living? I saw him when he was apart from you, remember? He was falling apart.”

“So was I.”

“Yeah but this was scary. Everyone knows you’re needy and clingy. Porthos is like a mountain collapsing in an earthquake.”

“Oh. Really?”

“Ask Anne. Anyway, she’s too intellectual for his tastes. She writes poetry in her spare time.”

“He’d like that.”

“Then have a threesome.”

Aramis looked at him from under his eyebrows. “Do not imagine for one minute, Charles d’Artagnan, that your personal situation is universally applicable.”

D’Artagnan threw up his hands in disgust. “Fine. Mope about it. That’ll fix things. Or you could make friends with her too so you can stay and chat in there instead of being out here looking like a piece of mouldy pasta.”

“I thought I was supposed to be the emotionally intelligent member of the team.”

“Only compared to Athos. Ow.” Damn it, that poke was in the same spot!

“You deserved that too. Go away now so I can sulk.”

*******************************

The day of the ‘graduation’ arrived soon enough. Louis had given orders that his arrival was not to be announced to the press, and the event treated as private, though he would be making an official re-entry into public life soon afterwards. He and Anne sat with Brujon, Constance and Treville in the audience, while Milady, Athos and Porthos stood discreetly at the edge of the hall seating. Outside, the school’s normal security guards patrolled, and the school grounds were closed to visitors.

D’Artagnan was in the unused left side lighting gallery, while Aramis sat behind the technician in the right side one. He and D’Artagnan had rifles ready, though not trained, on the doors opposite them. Short of surrounding the hall with guards, the family were as safe as the team could make them, but d’Artagnan reported that Athos was still twitchy. Inevitable, Aramis supposed.

Pierre and his class would perform at the end, then Louis would give his speech, demonstrate his gadgets, and then announce the inauguration of a permanent competition for the leaving year funded by the Foundation. But the younger students had their place in the limelight first. Anton’s class performed a little song and dance routine about sunflowers.

Aramis’s radio crackled. “They’re cute, aren’t they?” d’Artagnan said.

“They’re adorable.”

“They can’t really sing though.”

Aramis grinned. “No, but not a parent in the room will give a damn.”

“Cut the chatter, gentlemen,” Athos snapped over the radio.

The class teacher and the children stepped up to take a bow. Just then, one of the school’s security guards walked onto the stage. “What the hell is he doing?” Aramis asked. But before anyone could answer, the man grabbed Anton from behind and fired a pistol into the ceiling, making the other children scatter behind their teacher at the edge of the stage, and the audience scream in fright.

“Aramis, d’Artagnan, if you have a shot, take it!” Athos ordered. But Aramis could not find a clean line of sight, and d’Artagnan was blocked by the edge of the stage. Milady had her pistol raised, but from that distance would risk hitting Anton. Brujon had pushed the de Bourbons and the others down to the floor.

The man moved to the microphone “Ladies and gentlemen, sorry to disturb your entertainment. I have placed explosives under this building and I intend to bring it down. However, I’ll allow everyone but Louis and Anne de Bourbon to leave. Please stand up, _monsieur, madame_.” No one moved. “I have no problem with shooting your son if you don’t obey.”

Louis stood. “Take me, leave my wife and son.”

“No deal. Madame, do you want your son to have his brains splattered all over the stage?” A ripple of quiet whimpering ran through the audience and some of the kids on stage began to cry. The man turned. “Shut them up,” he ordered the teacher.

He hadn’t noticed Athos creeping up on the side, and now Athos took his chance. His shot connected, hitting the guy’s shoulder, but though it startled him into letting Anton go, he had enough self-possession to return fire, hitting Athos in the chest. Athos fell back, the guy ran off stage left, and Anton bolted, as he’d be trained to, in the opposite direction. “D’Artagnan, go after him,” Porthos yelled. “Milady, collect Dauphin, everyone else, get King and Queen to safety. Aramis, cover us.”

In the panicking crowd, no one paid any attention to Athos lying on the floor. Aramis did his duty, watching the crowd for their attacker’s return or the appearance of cronies, though his thoughts were split between the civilians and his unmoving friend. Milady herding Anton and his parents through the crowd, appeared to have her mind on her job, but Aramis knew what else she would be thinking about. Aramis said a prayer for his friend, and for Milady and d’Artagnan. It could have been him in their shoes.

*******************************

“Jesus, no,” D’Artagnan whispered when his lover fell. His eyes filled with tears. _Athos_. But Porthos’s orders snapped him out of it. None of them were safe yet, and the last thing Athos would want was for their charges to die because Athos’s husband was indulging his grief. There was a bomber on the loose.

The man said the building would come down. Did that mean he’d laid explosives in the basement? There was a door open that led to stairs down. He radioed Porthos. “Porthos, I’m heading to the basement, over.”

“Understood, d’Artagnan, over.”

That wasn’t Porthos’s voice. “Athos?”

“The same, over. Have you checked the perimeter, over?”

D’Artagnan’s knees went a little wobbly with relief. “Yes, no sign of hostile. Are you okay, over?”

“Perfectly. Meet you downstairs, over and out.”

 _Bastard._ If he was injured and running around, D’Artagnan would shoot him himself. A gunshot made him duck. “Hostile confirmed in basement, over.”

“Understood, over.”

He saw movement, realised it was a man in a guard’s uniform, and fired. His shot missed, and the man dodged. “Stand down! You can’t escape.”

The man ran and d’Artagnan aimed again at his back, hitting him in the centre. The man staggered but kept going. D’Artagnan went to pursue but realised that the man had been working on something electronic near the building’s boiler. The bomb, three blocks of C-4 with detonators inserted and a battery pack with a timer switch attached, was in a small holdall. D’Artagnan pulled out what he was pretty sure was the power to the detonators he could see, and tossed the wires and battery pack aside. The device was relatively unsophisticated for all its killing power, and he hoped and prayed it wasn’t camouflaging something cleverer.

“Athos, hostile injured. I’ve located a device near boiler, over.”

“Reaching your position now. Don’t shoot me, over.”

Seconds later, Athos appeared, holding his chest as if it hurt. “What do we have?”

D’Artagnan didn’t waste time exclaiming over seeing his husband alive. He indicated the bomb. “This. I’ve disabled the visible detonators, but I don’t know if there’s another one inside the C-4 blocks.”

“Great.” Athos spoke into his radio. “Porthos, get everyone out and clear of the building, now. There’s enough C-4 in this device to bring the entire building down, over.”

“Understood, over.”

“D’Artagnan, get out of here now. I’ll go after the gunman.”

“No fucking way, Athos.”

D’Artagnan glared and made it clear this was not up for discussion. Athos pursed his lips. “Is he injured?”

“The shoulder you hit. I shot him in the back but he might be wearing a vest like we are. He went that way.”

Athos started off in the direction D’Artagnan indicated but stopped after a few steps and put his finger to his lips. D’Artagnan heard it. Feet shifting on concrete. They headed towards the sound. A gunshot sent shards of wall zinging towards them. Athos knelt, pointed at D’Artagnan, then forward, counting backwards from five. _Four. Three. Two. One._

D’Artagnan swung around the corner, his arms outstretched with his pistol firing. Athos fired from his kneeling position. “Clear!” D’Artagnan shouted then ran forward, gun still ready. He came to the next corner. “Cover me,” Athos said, then he swung out. He fired and D’Artagnan heard a grunt. Athos had hit _someone_.

D’Artagnan crept around the corner, and found Athos kneeling over a man on the ground, lying face down. “Is he dead?”

“No.” Athos cuffed him, then rolled him over, pulled off the fake moustache and glasses, then frowned. “It’s Lucien Grimaud.”

“He’s supposed to be in prison.”

Athos gave him a look which said ‘ _clearly he’s not_ ’. “Let’s get him out of here.”

“Let him blow up.”

“Charles.”

“Sorry.”

Athos grunted in pain as he straightened, clutching his ribs again. D’Artagnan moved him out of the way to lift Grimaud. “Tell the police not to shoot us,” he said, struggling to get the semi-conscious prisoner into a fireman’s carry. The man, though short, was surprisingly heavy. “Go, go.”

They staggered together to the nearest signed exit, and away from other buildings. “Get help,” D’Artagnan said as he dumped their prisoner on the ground. “I’ll stay with him.”

Athos gave him a worried look, but did as D’Artagnan asked, radioing Porthos as he walked away. D’Artagnan cuffed Grimaud’s hands behind his back. He had a shoulder and an upper arm wound, and might bleed out, but D’Artagnan found it difficult to care.

The fire alarms still rang. The entire school was either being evacuated or in lock down. D’Artagnan was in a garden to the rear of the hall and had no clear view of the rest of the school, so he had no idea what was happening. Face down, Grimaud was muttering, but d’Artagnan ignored him.

Athos was back with six police officers and paramedics carrying a stretcher in under five minutes. “They’ve got him. Come with me,” Athos said to D’Artagnan. “Everyone’s out and safe.”

D’Artagnan got to his feet and hugged his husband. “Thank you for not being dead.” Athos laughed against his ear. “No one’s hurt?” D’Artagnan asked as the two of them left Grimaud in the tender care of the police. He kept his arm around Athos’s shoulders. “Other than you with your broken ribs—”

“Cracked,” Athos insisted. “Everyone’s safe. Good thing Grimaud’s not a much of a shot.”

“Or bomb maker. Are we sure we found all the devices?”

“No, but that’s not our problem. King, Queen, Treville, Constance and the children, are on their way to the residence with Milady, Porthos and Brujon. You and I have to answer some questions but it won’t take long.”

“I’ve got a question. Why the hell was he on the loose?”

“He escaped yesterday with the help of some corrupt police officers.”

D’Artagnan stopped walking and turned around. “Hang on, we just left him with the police!”

Athos put a restraining hand on his arm. “It’s all right, Charles.”

“How do you know?”

“Long and weary experience. And I know their captain.” D’Artagnan gave him a look, but Athos only shrugged. They walked on. “I’m trying to get a report on Sylvie Boden’s situation. You heard she and Clem were attacked?”

“No, when?”

“This morning. Sylvie fought them off. She texted Aramis while this crap was going down. I’ll send him to check on the two of them when we’re clear.”

“Grimaud again? It’s all connected.”

“Since Philippe Féron was found murdered in his house this morning too, yes, it seems like.”

“He killed Féron? What about Gaston? Marcheaux?” D’Artagnan asked. They were coming up on the evacuated school occupants now on the sports field. Hundreds of people, and police swarming all over the place.

“Police are checking on them now, although there’s every likelihood they’re involved in the attacks, rather than victims of them.” Athos spoke into his radio. “Athos, here. Porthos? Where are you, over?”

“Police control van by the eastern goalposts, over.”

“Coming your way, over and out.”

Aramis spotted them first and waved his arms until Athos waved back. D’Artagnan pushed his husband in the direction of the SMUR van. “He has cracked or broken ribs,” he told the doctor. Athos gave him a wounded look, but D’Artagnan wasn’t the least sorry.

He spoke to the police, who only wanted to know where the bomb was and a description of its position and power. Porthos had already filled them in on Grimaud and his connection to the de Bourbons. The police thanked him and he was allowed to return to his team-mates.

“God, what a mess,” he said to Aramis, watching Athos consent somewhat grumpily to being stripped to the waist and poked. “Grimaud only escaped yesterday. How did he rig something like this so fast?”

“He owns the security company the school uses, Samara tells me,” Porthos said.

D’Artagnan rolled his eyes. “Wonderful. And this escaped our attention how?”

“Holding companies and layers of obfuscation,” Aramis said. “I doubt this was long in the planning.”

“The bomb was a simple miner’s style device,” d’Artagnan told them. “Manually operated, nothing fancy. We were lucky he couldn’t find someone to build him something sneakier.”

Aramis put his hand on d’Artagnan’s shoulder. “We were _very_ lucky, and I thank God sincerely for that. I thought you were a widower.”

“So did I,” D’Artagnan said, looking at Athos frowning at the paramedic, and thinking how his world would collapse if this grumpy, complex, and deeply honourable man died. “Are we heading to the mansion or the hospital?”

“Hospital for you two.” Aramis pointed with his chin over at Athos. “He’ll need X-rays at the very least.”

“Are the boys all right?”

“Pierre was very brave for his mother but Anton was terrified. He did very well though.”

Athos signalled to d’Artagnan to come over. “They’re insisting on dragging me to hospital.”

“Good.”

“Traitor.”

D’Artagnan stole a kiss. “And proud of it. Behave, love.”

Athos grunted in annoyance, then raised his voice. “Porthos, you head back to the mansion. Keep everyone there for now, if you can. Aramis, please drive to Rouen and check on Sylvie. Monsieur will cover all their expenses if there are any, I feel safe in saying. Bring them back with you, if you think it’s justified or if they want it. I’ll be happy to speak to them too.”

“Understood.” Aramis walked off with his husband. D’Artagnan took his by the arm to lead him to the ambulance, but Athos resisted. “I’m not injured that badly,” he said. “Why tie up resources? We can drive ourselves.”

So d’Artagnan drove while Athos hunched in the front seat, looking miserable. “Are you in a lot of pain?”

“I screwed up,” Athos said. “I relied on the school security for our perimeter.”

“Yeah, that was bad. On the other hand, you had no reason to suspect—”

“Doesn’t matter. I had no reason not to suspect. The only reason we’re not all dead is that Lucien Grimaud is better at making money out of dirty deals than he is at making headshots. It was a total security failure.”

“You did say it would be a nightmare,” d’Artagnan said.

“And I was right. We should have had more people there, more people on King and Queen.”

“We didn’t have any more. And we only use two routinely for that kind of thing.”

“Then we need to change the routine. Shit.” Athos ran his hand through his hair, then winced as his ribs caught.

“Calm down, love,” d’Artagnan said, reaching over to pat his thigh.

“Watch the road. And no, I can’t calm down, Charles. This could have been terrorists, kidnappers, anyone. The fact it was Grimaud is neither here nor there.”

“There will be time for a post-mortem later, but we did what we could. The school didn’t want us to put everyone through a security check, or close down exits. We took a risk.”

“And it nearly led to disaster. It was an unacceptable risk.”

“Every time they leave the mansion is a risk, Athos,” d’Artagnan said. “They don’t want to live under lock and key.”

“Maybe they will now.”

“Hope not. It’s a horrible way for their children to grow up.”

“Hmmm. By the way, I wasn’t thrilled about you disobeying my orders.”

“What?” D’Artagnan glanced quickly at his husband.

“In the basement, when I told you to get out.”

D’Artagnan slammed his hand on the wheel. “I thought you were _dead_! And just after finding out you weren’t, you expected me to leave you alone with a gunman, and possibly more bombs? If that’s insubordination in your eyes, then I’m guilty. And I’ll be guilty again in the same situation, so fuck you, Athos de la Fère.”

Neither of them spoke for several minutes. D’Artagnan turned off for the hospital, still fuming, and found a place to park. As he turned off the engine, Athos touched his arm. “I’m sorry.”

D’Artagnan turned to him. “You should be. You had no right to ask that of me. Not then, not there, not ever.” He scrubbed at his nose. “When I thought you were dead, I—”

Athos went to put his arm around his shoulders, but winced. D’Artagnan pushed him away. “Don’t hurt yourself more, you idiot.”

“Forgive me.”

D’Artagnan shook his head at his mentally-challenged spouse. “Yeah. _Eventually_. Come on.”

*******************************

Aramis called Sylvie as he drove to Rouen. “Clem’s just come out of surgery,” Sylvie told him. “They think she’ll be all right eventually, but she has a fractured skull and a shattered wrist, lacerations, bruises. Painful shit.”

“I’m sorry, my dear. How are you?”

“Battered.”

“Where do you want to be when she comes out?”

“Somewhere safe.”

“Here?”

She paused, then said, “Yeah. For a bit.”

In the end, Aramis was able to do quite a lot more than just bring them back to Paris two days later. Louis insisted on the two women joining them for the August holiday in Chamonix, and paying for everything they needed for medical care and rehabilitation. With Anne’s pregnancy entering its third trimester, Louis was taking no chances with her security, so Sylvie and Clem were the only non-staff, non-family members invited. Aramis was grateful, like the rest of the team, for a chance to regroup after a far too close a shave.

By the time everyone departed for Chamonix, Athos and Porthos had gone over every aspect of the school incident with Treville, and the only failing they could identify was relying on the school’s security guards, at the school’s request. “In future,” Athos said, reporting back to the team as a group, “we have our own people there as well or exclusively, or the de Bourbons don’t attend. Louis agrees.”

“And Madame?” Aramis asked.

“She’s not happy about living under that level of security,” Milady said, glancing at Athos who frowned. It looked as if this was a point which had been gone over and over.

“She’s the one who’s suffered the most from security failures,” d’Artagnan said.

“Yeah, but the kidnapping was Rochefort,” Porthos said, “and Grimaud was the kind of rogue player we can’t protect against easily anyway.”

“So Louis agrees, Madame doesn’t. How do we square that?” d’Artagnan asked.

“With difficulty.” Athos looked like he had indigestion. “We still need more people, though that might not have helped us this time.”

Aramis raised his hand. “May I suggest that Sylvie Boden would make a wonderful addition, if she can be persuaded?”

“I agree, but let’s wait until Clem has recovered before I ask her. Until then, we just have to be as sharp as we can. Any suggestions thankfully received. I think I’m too old to be as clever as this job needs now, so I’ve arranged for Porthos to be team leader, with whomever he wishes as lieutenant. Aramis, I presume. Samara will continue to be in control of scheduling, research and so on. Porthos and I will return to the field full time.”

By the shocked look on D’Artagnan’s face, he’d been caught out by this. Athos reached for his hand, but Aramis had no doubt there would be vigorous discussions later. Porthos only nodded, even though he hadn’t told Aramis that the deal had been finalised.

Better tell them his own news now, Aramis thought. He cleared his throat. “As we’re discussing team changes, I think I should tell you that I’m resigning.”

Milady’s eyes widened in surprise. Athos looked wounded to the core. “You’re abandoning us?” he said in a quiet, hurt voice. “Now?”

“Hang on, Athos. He’s allowed—”

Aramis held up his hand to silence his husband. “Wait, Porthos. Louis and Anne know. I’ve been discussing this with them, especially her, for some time. Guys, I love you, but I wasn’t made for this alone. I want to give back more than I can as a guard. I’m returning to nursing. Porthos wants to stay and that’s fine by me. We’ve been discussing it too. I asked him not to tell you, Athos,” he added as the man drew breath to complain at his friends. “When I go is dependant on you filling my place. Anne has offered me a position in one of the clinics the Foundation operates run for homeless youth. I’ll still be around, just not...you know.”

D’Artagnan, next to him, turned and put his arms around Aramis. “I’m proud of you and proud to have you as a friend.”

When d’Artagnan let him go, Milady caught Aramis’s gaze. “Same here. Good for you.”

“I thought you’d be angry with me.”

“No. Not after seeing you with Louis. Athos, he’s a gifted nurse.”

“I know but...hell, I’m proud of you too, old friend.” Athos stood and came over, offering his hand, but Aramis got up and hugged him. “Not sorry for the time we had together though.”

“Nor I.” He let Athos go. “I don’t regret a moment of it. But it’s time to move on, before I’m too old to remember new treatment protocols.”

“Still our best shot,” Athos said.

Aramis nodded at Brujon, who had kept his head down while this part of the discussion had happened. “Not for much longer, I suspect.” The lad grinned at the praise. “So, let’s have fun at Chamonix, and discuss what needs to happen before I go. And you all know, I hope, that I will be there for each of you, should you need me.”

“That goes for us too, if you do,” d’Artagnan said.

“D’Artagnan, I want you to be my lieutenant.” Porthos grinned at d’Artagnan’s surprise. “Your old man needs a break, and your old lady still wants to be at Madame’s side. Otherwise she’d be my first choice.”

“Charming,” Athos murmured. Porthos laughed. “Charles?”

“Uh, I accept? If you don’t mind, I mean,” he said to Athos.

“Not up to me, but I don’t, not that it matters. So, can I invite our team leader to shut this down so we can all go for a swim or have sex or something equally pleasant?”

D’Artagnan grinned and looked at Milady. “I know which one I vote for.”

“Then, done,” Porthos said. “Aramis, you’re with me.”

“Always,” Aramis murmured.

Back in their cabin, Porthos pinned him up against the wall and snogged him enthusiastically. “Thought you weren’t gonna tell them until Chamonix.”

Busily undoing his husband’s belt and trousers, it took a few moments for Aramis to answer. “Thought it was best to get it out of the way, since the subject came up. Do you...mind?” Porthos had caused his voice to squeak by putting his hand down Aramis’s pants and cupping him firmly.

“Nope. D’Artagnan’s gonna have words to say to Athos.”

“Yes, I know. Stop talking now, love.”

Porthos grinned, and concentrated on the job in hand, to Aramis’s very vocal delight.

*******************************

“Before you chew his dick off, Charles, I’d like to use it one last time,” Anne said as they walked back to their cabin.

“I’m not mad. Well, yes I am. Athos, why didn’t you say something?”

Athos answered with irritating serenity. “I thought you might resent me promoting Porthos and not you. Your chance will come.”

“He really thinks that’s what’s bothering me,” d’Artagnan complained to Anne.

“Even though I’m senior to you and Porthos both.”

“Anne, you said—”

“Athos, stop teasing our husband. Charles, he didn’t tell you because Treville told him to wait. He told me because I beat it out of him more or less.”

“Did not,” Athos said, pouting. Anne raised an eyebrow and smirked. “Anyway, aren’t you pleased? _You_ get a promotion anyway.”

D’Artagnan rolled his eyes. “Yeah, that’s _lovely_ , but I just thought you’d have told me.”

Athos seemed to be puzzled this should be important. He wasn’t that stupid, d’Artagnan knew. “It will make no real difference to you, and what it does make, should be a positive.”

“I hope so, for your sake. Is Porthos happy?”

“He says so. It doesn’t have to be forever, Charles.” They’d reached the cabin and Athos opened the door, shooing them both in. “Naked, bed, now. Both of you.”

Anne folded her arms. D’Artagnan did the same, taking his cue from her. “Uh uh. You are so not the boss of us any more. In fact, I give the orders to _you_ now, I believe.”

Athos smiled like an innocent child. “And at last my dastardly plan comes to fruition. Now you’re in charge, you get to do all the work. So, do with me as you wish.” He laughed as the two of them pounced, and kept laughing until they took him to bed and made him shut up by keeping his mouth busy with many other delightful things.

**Author's Note:**

> This one took me an age to finish. I hope the result meets with your approval.
> 
> Kudos (please, kudos!), criticism, corrections and comments craved by this sad author in need of validation :)


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